


Strange Days

by SoManyJacks



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Canon Divergence, Chantry boys be all confuse, Disordered Eating, Dissociation, Dubious Consent, Edging, Flogging, Fugue States, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Mention of suicide ideation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PTSD, Pining, Praise Kink, Sex Before Feels, Sickness, Spanking, Sparring, Suicide Attempt, angst angst angst, covert self-harm, lying, one-night stand that isn't, withholding of safewords
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 77,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5298806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Iron Bull/Cullen Tumblr prompt week. Kinda got away from me, this one. It's technically supposed to be an AU. It.... isn't. Sorry. Begins between DA2 and DA:I, just before Cullen leaves Kirkwall with Seeker Cassandra. Bull gets sent to Kirkwall by the Ben-Hassrath to spy on the situation after the Chantry explodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Indeed. Most Peculiar.

 

Cullen couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent more than one consecutive evening in a tavern. But here he was, for a second night, sitting in the very last seat at the bar in the Hanged Man. Seemed fitting, in a way. He was starting a new life. Might as well break the mold while he could.

He’d gotten a few looks when he walked in yesterday. Even without his armor, people recognized his face. Still, he wasn’t there to make friends. He was there to drink.

Not a lot, of course. He wasn’t stupid, nor looking to become so. Seeker Cassandra had warned him that the physical withdrawal would be strong for the first few weeks, as his body fought to regulate itself without lyrium. There was no way to feign illness in the barracks without attracting the attention of a healer. Since it was worse at night, he headed to the Hanged Man, where one more person heaving his guts in the alley would attract no notice. And in three days, he’d be on a boat with the Seeker, and seasickness would provide cover.

The door banged open and a group of... well, it was hard to even call them a group. There were a few humans, a couple elves, a dwarf, and then last of all a Qunari.

Except... no. He couldn’t be a true Qunari. He was laughing, for one thing, and he had his arm around the shoulder of a man who looked Tevinter. He must be Tal-Vashoth.

Still, most of the other patrons couldn’t tell the difference. The tension in the room shot up. Cullen automatically began to ready himself to diffuse the situation. _No. Not my problem._ He went back to contemplating his beer. If a fight breaks out, he would act, he decided.

The Qunari took stock of the staring faces. “Hey,” he said in a loud stage whisper to his friend. “Cremisius. Do I smell again? You’re supposed to warn me about that.”

The Tevinter man snorted with laughter as the Qunari sniffed at his underarm. “C’mon, chief. You know you Ox-men all smell the same to me.”

There was a smattering of nervous chuckles, and one full-throated laugh. That pirate woman, Isabela, sashayed up to the Qunari. “Well. We don’t see many Tal-Vashoth here. Isabela. Welcome to the Hanged Man.”

The Tal-Vashoth grinned, almost a leer, but his bow would have been right at home in a throne room. “The Iron Bull. At your service.” He kissed Isabela’s hand.

“That can be arranged, I think.” Isabela cooed.

Cullen rolled his eyes. By now the tension had crept back down to normal levels. Cullen glanced over his shoulder as the Bull’s companions, apparently mercenaries, settled into a table.

Cullen nursed his tankard as long as he could. The queasiness was beginning.

The Bull came up to the bar, standing next to Cullen as he waved down the barkeep. Cullen sighed. There was plenty of room. Why must the man stand so close?

Cullen glanced to the side, his eyes lingering a shade too long on the musculature of the mercenary’s arm and chest. There was an answering swell of interest in Cullen's breeches. Maker’s breath. This was ridiculous.

“This is a friendly place,” the Bull said, turning to face him. “I like it. Wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome. You know, what with the...” He gestured up at his horns.

“Isabela is rather friendly,” Cullen said. “I got much the same treatment when I arrived.”

“All that's telling me is that the woman has good taste,” Bull gave him a lazy smile, looking Cullen up and down.

“Wait, what are you saying? Oh, for.... Maker’s breath.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck.

Bull roared with laughter, but it was the kind of sound that filled Cullen with warmth, not humiliation. The man patted Cullen's back with one huge hand, squeezing his shoulder.

Cullen shifted on his barstool, the surprising intimacy of the gesture not helping with his burgeoning arousal. It hit him: it had been a very, very long time since anyone had touched him beyond a handshake. He tried to remember the last time, frowning at Bull’s hand.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” Bull said after a second, yanking his hand away.

“No, no it’s fine. Really. Think nothing of it.” Cullen heard himself saying the words and slumped. _Think nothing of it? When did you become such a snob, Rutherford?_

Bull raised an eyebrow. “You all right? You look a little peaked, if you don’t mind me saying so, uh....”

“Cullen. Cullen Rutherford.” He held out his hand.

“The Iron Bull.” Bull shook his hand, firm. He didn’t let go. “You Ferelden?”

“Yes,” Cullen said, wondering how to extract his hand from Bull’s without seeming rude. “And I’m fine, really. Thanks for asking.” There’s nothing for it. Cullen pulled away, reluctantly, feeling Bull’s fingers slide across his palm.

He realized that he was half-hard. And the nausea was beginning to take root. Damn.

“Okay, well. Gotta get back to the boys. They get a little rowdy sometimes. Nice to meet you.” Bull winked at him.

Cullen smiled weakly as Bull made his way back to the table. He gulped down a bit more of the beer. His mouth began to water; he was cold and hot at the same time. It was starting.

Cullen tried to keep his steps steady as he made his way to the back entrance. Once he reached the alley, he got about five yards away before vomiting into the sewer.

Cullen was sick a long time. Even after his stomach had nothing left to give, he heaved, doubled over. Cullen shivered against the chill in the air even as his skin burned. He wanted nothing more than to lie down, to have someone take care of him.

The door opened, ripping Cullen out of his self pity. He kept his back turned, hearing the telltale tinkle as someone relieved himself against the wall.

He heard more footsteps. And then, Bull’s voice. “Cullen?”

Cullen hastily wiped at his face. He glanced over his shoulder. “Sorry. Bit too much to drink.”

“Don’t give me that horseshit. I know a drunk man when I see one. You need help?” Bull’s footsteps loomed closer. When Bull squatted next to him, Cullen could practically feel the heat coming from the man’s chest, though maybe it was just the fever in his own skin.

“No, I’m -” Another wave hit him, and he doubled over, clutching his stomach. There was nothing left to come up. His mouth and nose burned from the acid in his stomach.

“This is your version of fine, I’d hate to see how you define ‘shitty’. Here,” he said, holding out a waterskin.

Cullen didn’t even think. He scrabbled for it, swishing the clean water around his mouth, spitting it out, and then drinking in earnest.

Water had seldom tasted so good. He drank for a long time, hoping that some of it would stay in his stomach. “Thank you,” he gasped.

“No problem.” Bull didn’t move.

Cullen didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t exactly ask Bull to leave a public alley. But as the moment stretched out, Cullen's discomfort grew, though his nausea, thankfully, receded. “Er, was there something you needed?”

“I’m trying to figure out if you have the plague. I can guarantee that whatever job we find here’s not worth that.” Bull said.

“It’s nothing contagious. Just... leave me be. I’ll be fine.” To prove his point, Cullen stood up.

This was a mistake, because then dizziness hit him. He tumbled, Bull catching him easily.

The interplay of Bull’s muscles, the scent of his skin, it was all overwhelming. Cullen groaned with sickness and need and embarrassment, even as he fought to steady himself. “I... I need to go.”

“Where?” Bull’s voice rumbled.

“What?” Cullen squinted up at the silhouette of horns.

“Where are you going?”

It took a second, but Cullen finally realized Bull was offering to help. “It’s fine. I can get there.”

Bull snorted. “You might want to give yourself a minute. Unless you wanna try to take down a bandit by puking on them.”

Cullen laughed weakly. The sickness had hit him much harder tonight than last night. Perhaps his plan wasn’t as strong as he thought.

Bull cleared his throat. “Look, this is gonna sound weird, but, I rented a room. You wanna take a few minutes to pull yourself together before you go, that's fine. I’ll be out in front with the Chargers.”

It was an utterly preposterous suggestion. “You... want me to go to your room?” Cullen blinked in disbelief.

“Hey, doesn’t matter to me,” Bull said, holding up his hands. “I’m just saying.”

It was truly, thoroughly, ridiculous. Absolutely out of the question. And yet Cullen found himself nodding, weariness overwhelming his apprehension. He only needed to lay down for a minute. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Never hurts to have friends.” Bull laughed.

True to his word, Bull unlocked the door and let Cullen in, then showed himself out. Cullen tumbled into the bed face down.

He hadn’t intended to sleep, just rest. Yet he found himself awaking with a snort when the door opened.

Bull stood in the doorway. “You’re still here.”

Cullen wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Sorry. Fell asleep. Sorry.” He fought to gather himself.

“Hey, fine by me,” Bull grinned. The implication was clear.

Sleep was chased away by the still-unfamiliar clench of lust. For the first time in recent memory, Cullen realized that there was nothing stopping him. He wasn’t in the barracks. He wasn’t Bull’s commanding officer. He was no one to Bull, really, just a near-stranger who got taken ill in the alley. It was completely out of character for Cullen, but that was part of the allure. Cullen looked up at Bull. “Is it?”

“Pretty boy like you in my bed? Not gonna turn that down.” Bull stood directly in front of Cullen.

There was no question by that point. Cullen had made up his mind. Soon enough he’d be on a boat with Seeker Cassandra, and his own needs would once again be pushed aside. Might as well take this opportunity.

The question was, what to do about it. Cullen realized he had no idea how these sorts of things were supposed to work. He stared up at Bull, blinking rapidly.

“I still haven’t scared you off, huh?” Bull smiled. When Cullen shook his head, Bull tilted his horns. “Nice. So. How do you like it?”

Panic filled Cullen. He wasn’t expecting that. “Er. I’m... it’s been a while.”

“Yeah?” Bull leaned down, pushing on Cullen's shoulders gently until he was on his back, the man’s enormous bulk straddling him.

Cullen gulped for air. _By the Maker, this was really happening._

Bull seemed to be assessing, his gaze intent. Cullen wondered how ridiculous he looked. Then he wondered how terrible he would probably be. Then he wondered how badly Bull would be disappointed. He was just coming to the conclusion that the answers were “very”, “very”, and “very”, when Bull reached up and drew the back of his fingers down Cullen's cheek.

“Hey. It’s all right. Don’t be nervous.” Bull’s voice was quiet, with no hint of judgement.

“Is it that obvious?” Cullen was grateful his voice didn’t break, at least.

Bull chuckled. “Yeah, kinda. You’re all pink. It’s cute. I like pink.” Before Cullen could decide if Bull was kidding or not, Bull started undressing him.

Cullen tried to help, but Bull batted his hands away. Bull’s own hands were everywhere, demanding Cullen's full attention. When Bull ran a finger down his cock, Cullen whined and bucked at the sensation.

Bull chuckled. “How long?” His huge hands smoothed up Cullen's chest.

Cullen’s eyes dropped to Bull’s own stiffening member. Bull laughed. “That’s not what I meant. How long has it been since you’ve been with someone?”

“Uh...” Cullen hesitated.

“Weeks? Months?”

Cullen paused. “Yes,” he said. Technically it wasn’t a lie. It was just... many, _many_ months.

Bull snorted. “Do me a favor. Never become a spy. You’re a rotten liar. Give me your hands.”

Cullen obliged. Bull held them tight against his sides. When Bull leaned his head down to lick Cullen's cock, the Templar yanked on the grip involuntarily.

Bull’s response was to squeeze his wrists tighter and hum a laugh into Cullen's balls. It felt absolutely incredible.

Any thought still rattling around in Cullen's brain was silenced by Bull’s tongue sliding up his cock. When he sucked down, Cullen groaned, trying to rut upwards.

He couldn’t. Bull was controlling both of their movements, and his pace was brutal. But before he could tip over the edge, Bull stopped, leaving Cullen a gasping, whimpering, sweating mess.

“Not yet. I think maybe I’d like to see what those pretty lips can do.” One huge finger traced Cullen's lips.

Cullen opened his mouth automatically, sucking tentatively. Bull hummed in appreciation, giving him instructions: harder, softer, use his teeth. When Bull withdrew his finger, Cullen chased after it, leaning up.

“Eager. I like it. I’ve got something much tastier for you, pretty boy.” Bull shifted on the bed, presenting his cock to Cullen.

Cullen lapped at the tip, tasting the salty drop of precum before wrapping his lips around the head. Cullen tried to suck upward, but his range of motion was limited.

“No no. I got you. Just lay back.” Bull rumbled. Cullen hesitated. Bull took one of his hands and wrapped it around the post of the headboard. “You need me to stop, let go.”

With intense concentration, Bull pushed slowly past Cullen's lips. It was easier at this angle, and Bull retreated when Cullen gagged too heavily.

Not that Bull didn’t push. But the challenge was welcome. Cullen wanted to be pushed. He wanted Bull to take. He wanted this.

Bull was murmuring praise in between his grunts and sighs. He reached down to stroke Cullen's leaking cock, bringing him to the edge once again, before he pulled away. He leaned over and rifled through the pack at the foot of the bed.

Cullen glimpsed a small jar. Bull scooped out something on his fingers, some kind of grease or slick, and stroked it on them both. Cullen bucked up into Bull’s fist, biting his lip.

With a growl, Bull once again held Cullen's hands steady, pinning his forearms on either side of his head. He straddled Cullen, pausing for a second to look down, his breathing heavy.

And then Bull rolled his hips, their cocks sliding against each other, and Cullen almost shouted. He ground upwards, trying to rut against Bull. Cullen hadn’t been aware that pleasure could be quite so excruciating. He was so close, but there was barely enough friction for Cullen's cock to gain purchase.

With an exasperated groan, Cullen collapsed back to the bed. It was only then, when he allowed Bull to take total control, that the Qunari gave him what he wanted, grinding against him.

Cullen whimpered, laying passive as Bull rocked into him. Maker, but it was good. Still, it wasn’t enough. He needed more. “Please,” he said tentatively.

Bull growled, drawing in a deep breath. “Please what?”

“Please, I....” Cullen blinked. It was more difficult than he thought, to beg.

“What do you want, pretty boy? Tell me.”

The command freed the words. “Please, I want... I want to come. Please?”

“Mmmm, that's nice. You beg so pretty. Maybe I wanna hear a bit more of that.”

“Oh please please please. Please let me come. It’s been so long. So long. Please. Maker, I need it. I need it. Bull, Please.”

“Oh, fuck,” Bull grunted. He picked up the pace, letting go of Cullen's arms and curling around him.

The threshold hovered, shimmering, and then broke over Cullen like a wave. His body jerked, spasming, and if the sounds coming from his mouth were words, their meaning was lost on him.

When the whiteness behind his eyes faded, he felt the faint pulses of the end of Bull’s release as well. Before Cullen could truly catch his breath, Bull was kissing him.

Nothing about it was expected. Not the fact of the kiss, nor the tenderness, nor the way Bull’s breath shuddered. Cullen was too confused to do anything but enjoy it.

Bull broke the kiss, holding himself up on his elbows. One thumb traced Cullen's jawline. “Mmm. You look good, you sound good, you taste good. Guess I came to the bar on the right night.”

“I guess so,” Cullen whispered, his mind still fuzzy.

Bull burst out laughing, but it was a warm, inclusive sound, not meant to belittle. Bull rolled up to sit. “I like you, Cullen. I’ll be here for a few more days at least, if you wanna do this again.”

It was impossible. Utterly preposterous. And yet. And yet. Cullen laughed too. “Stranger things have happened.” 

 

 


	2. Why Not?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen goes back to the Hanged Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, yeah. I guess there's more to this story after all?

Cullen hesitated at the door to the Hanged Man. Word had gotten back to his second in command that he'd spent most of the previous night there. Not that Cullen needed or wanted the man’s approval. That wasn't the issue. Let them think he was shirking his duty. As long as they didn't try to follow in his footsteps.

Because, though he was buoyed up by the hope that working for the Right Hand of the Divine would help him atone for his sins, Cullen knew his decision to give up lyrium was a death sentence.

And he was fine with that. If he could manage to even partially expiate his actions in the time he had left, it would be worth it. The Seeker would make sure his death was quick, when the time came. The surety of his fate was somehow comforting.

Still, Cullen's hand lingered on the latch to the door. The trembling in his stomach had less to do with his withdrawal and more to do with the memory of huge hands pinning him down as he came undone. By the Maker, was he _really_ considering another night with Bull?

Before he could decide one way or another, the door opened inward, startling him.

“Oh. It's you.” Isabela glared at him. “You here to poach my quarry again? Rude. I called dibs.”

“What?” Cullen knew exactly what she was talking about, of course.

She pushed past him, rolling her eyes.

Cullen went inside and found his seat. Corff nodded at him and pulled a beer, sliding it to him without speaking.

Maybe it was nerves, or just a growing appreciation for beer, but Cullen managed to drink two pints and order a third before the sickness hit. Bull still hadn't arrived, though his troops had trickled in. It figured. Maybe Isabela had cornered him outside. Maybe he was avoiding Cullen. Maybe both. _This is why you shouldn't think with your pants, Rutherford._

The wave of nausea built quickly, helped along by the sinking sensation of disappointment. He practically ran to the alley, barely holding it together before emptying his stomach over the cobbles.

Time seemed to move oddly when he was sick. Cullen had no sense how long he'd been out there, shivering and retching, but he suddenly realized he wasn't alone.

Bull was leaning on the wall on the other side of the door, near the entrance to the alley. Almost like he was keeping watch. Once Cullen's stomach was well and truly empty, Bull once again handed him a waterskin, without comment.

“Thank you,” Cullen said, when he could speak.

“No problem.”

When the Qunari didn't say anything else, Cullen spoke. “What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for you,” he replied, as if it was perfectly natural.

“Excuse me?”

“Look. I know what's wrong with you. I've seen it before. You on the run?” Bull asked calmly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cullen bluffed. He still felt ill, but not enough to overcome his wariness. It was supposed to be a secret, his giving up lyrium. And yet this mercenary figured it out easily. He was always too trusting. And look where it had gotten him. He’d trusted Greagoir, he’d trusted Meredith....

Bull’s derisive snort cut through Cullen's spiral of thought. “Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm stupid because I'm big.”

Cullen blinked. “I'm not on the run.” Before Bull could ask anything else, Cullen parried with a question of his own. “How did you know?”

Bull shrugged. “Thought about trying to recruit a Templar a while back. But I found out right quick that the ones that run aren't exactly Charger material. And it's not good, what happens after a few months. You know that, right?”

“Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm stupid because I'm pretty,” Cullen shot back. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but he was on edge. Maybe it was the ease with which Bull unearthed the secret Cullen had been trying to maintain.

Bull laughed. “Fair enough. You okay?”

 _Not even remotely,_ Cullen thought. He sighed. “Just a little tired,” he said aloud. The thoughts crowded thick and fast, blanketing him with doubt. He shouldn’t have said his name yesterday. Not that it would be hard to discover it. Half the patrons at the bar knew who he was. And now this virtual stranger knew his biggest secret. How long before it drifted back to the barracks, that their former leader was mad enough to choose a slow death from lyrium withdrawal? Would it get back to the Seeker? What if she decided not to take him?

Cullen began to brush himself off and rise to standing, using the wall to assist. He couldn’t stay, not now.

“Hey, Cullen, you sure you’re all right? Seems like something’s bothering you.” Bull said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Cullen jerked away. Well, he tried to. Slumped against the wall as he was, he couldn’t manage enough of a range of motion to shake Bull’s grip. “Fine,” he mumbled. “Sorry. Must go.”

Bull frowned. “You don’t trust me.”

Cullen laughed, a sound shaped by bitterness and rising panic rather than humor. “You’re very perceptive for a man with one eye. I do, however, suggest you let go.”

“You really think you could hurt me?” Bull raised an eyebrow.

Cullen was already performing the lightning-fast equations in his head, calculating his odds. He was unarmed, and smaller, but he also had both eyes and the advantage of familiarity with his surroundings. There was a loose cobblestone right behind Bull’s left foot - he could use that. All Cullen needed to do was get out into the open, after all.

Bull just grinned. “Let me rephrase that. You think you could hurt me, in your condition?”

At that, Cullen slumped further. Of course. He was more than useless at the moment. Truth be told, he wasn’t scared, though he realized dimly that he should be. He was mostly embarrassed. “It was only a suggestion.”

“Ha!” Bull’s laugh bounced off the stone walls. He didn’t actually let go, though he did bring his hand around to rub circles into Cullen's back, between his shoulderblades. “Look. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me. But I figured this all out last night, about five seconds after I caught you puking your guts out. I didn’t have to tell you, you know. I didn’t have to wait for you.”

Cullen flopped around so that his back was to the wall and he was facing Bull. The Qunari didn’t try to stop him, instead shifting his hand to maintain contact with Cullen, the result of which was that his huge palm rested over Cullen's heart. It was warm, and far more comforting than it had any right to be. “Why did you, then? Wait for me?”

“Because,” Bull said, sliding his hand up to the crook of Cullen's neck. His thumb traced along Cullen's jawline. “Like I said last night. You look good, you sound good, and you taste good. And it’s been a long, long time since anyone’s ever done all that and made me laugh after.”

“As long as I didn’t make you laugh during,” Cullen mumbled. Fatigue was getting the better of him again. He’d have to talk to Cassandra about that. Perhaps a potion, something that could keep him alert...

His train of thought was interrupted by the sensation of being swept from his feet. “What - Bull, what are you -”

“Come on, pretty boy. You’re dead on your feet again. Naptime for you.” Bull said calmly, carrying him through the back door.

To his credit, Cullen did protest. Granted, the protests were largely mumbled directly into the surprisingly soft skin of Bull’s neck. The scent of Bull made certain parts of Cullen begin to sit up and take notice, even despite his fatigue. _Down boy. Just get some rest and leave. You’ve already done enough damage._

“What was that?” Bull asked as he deposited Cullen in the bed.

“Er, nothing. Just talking to myself.”

Bull chuckled and shook his head. “I’ll go get you some water.”

Cullen was asleep before the door clicked shut.

Without windows, there was little way to tell how much time had passed while Cullen slept. There was, as promised, a cup of water by his elbow. Cullen took several grateful gulps before he realized Bull was in the room with him.

The Qunari was sitting at the small table, his back turned to Cullen. The sound of a quill scratching across paper was a surprise.

“You’re awake,” Bull said without turning.

“Are you... doing paperwork?” Cullen raised an eyebrow.

“Bookkeeping. Gotta make sure my boys get paid.” Bull grunted. He shuffled the pages, tapping them into a neat stack which he then put into a leather folio.

“You are one of the strangest mercenaries I've ever met.” Cullen sat up, swinging his feet off the bed, noticing for the first time that his boots has been removed and placed by the foot of the bed.

“Going so soon?” Bull turned in his chair.

Cullen hadn’t been expecting company when he woke up. Of course, nothing about that evening was what he expected so far. He reached for his boots. “I rather think you've done enough. I don't want to overstay my welcome.”

“Sex was that bad, huh? Must be losing my touch. Never been turned down for a repeat performance before.” Bull rumbled.

Cullen laughed. He didn't want to leave, not really. Yet his fingers were unlacing a boot, readying to put it on, the motion automatic.

“Damn, you're really leaving, aren’t you?”

It was the sadness in Bull’s voice that stayed Cullen's hands. He sounded truly disappointed. Cullen looked up. “I'm sure you can find someone else. Isabela was very upset I stole you away last night.”

“Yeah, but I don't want her. I want you.” Bull rose, towering over Cullen.

His mouth went dry, and he swallowed hard. The statement of naked desire was not something Cullen had a lot of experience with. It seemed to burn into him, like a draught of fine whiskey. He blinked up at Bull, his mind wiped clean of words.

Bull reached down and stroked Cullen's hair. He didn’t say anything, or try to wheedle or convince. It wasn’t even a sexual gesture, more comforting than anything. “What do you want, Cullen?”

The breath caught in Cullen's throat. He wasn’t sure which was more uncomfortable, the prospect of admitting what he wanted, or that Bull would give it to him.

Because there was something. Something he’d only read about, in the texts confiscated from Circle libraries with clockwork regularity. Salacious tales of domination, of ropes and bondage, of Templars being helpless, punished by mages, forced to submit. Easy enough to understand the provenance of such texts. What Cullen was less likely to admit was that most of these pamphlets often spent weeks in his own desk, read surreptitiously dozens of times before being destroyed.

When Bull had held him down last night, it was satisfying in a way Cullen had never admitted possible, much less experienced. Maybe he should take this opportunity. Maker knows the worst that could happen would be for Bull to say no.

“Cat got your tongue?” Bull joked.

“There is -” His voice broke, so he started again. “There is something. That I want.”

“Yeah?” Bull smiled slow, his fingers now gently pulling Cullen's hair.

Cullen meant to say something, but instead he moaned at the sensation.

“It’s like that, is it?” Bull tugged harder.

Cullen gasped, shivering.

The sound of interest that came from Bull was somewhere between a purr and a growl. “Like it a little rough?” There was not even a hint of shame or judgment in Bull’s voice. “You sure you want to play like that?”

 _You’re never going to see him again. When will you ever get an opportunity to do this again? How much time do you think you have left?_ With a deep breath, Cullen nodded.

Bull grinned and nodded once. “There’s limits to what we can do, though. I don’t know you, and I don’t particularly trust you. So: no ropes, no pain.”

Cullen blinked in surprise. “You don’t trust _me?”_

Bull shook his head. “You’ve never done this, so you don’t know how much you can take. I can’t trust you to tell me if I push too far. If we had a few weeks, that’d be one thing. But you and I both know you’re not coming back again.”

The words stung, all the more so for being matter-of-fact. “I’ll come back,” Cullen spoke without thinking. Would he?

Bull snorted. His thumb traced the shell of Cullen's ear. “How about we just concentrate on now?”

“As you say,” Cullen acquiesced.

“Shirt off. Roll over,” Bull ordered. “Hands over your head.”

Cullen complied at once, the butterflies in his stomach crowding out the bittersweet sadness. He felt Bull straddle his hips, and a second later his hands were smoothing across Cullen's back. “I’m going to give you a watchword. If something goes wrong, physically or otherwise, say ‘phylactery’.”

Laughing, Cullen nodded. “You have an odd sense of humor.”

“Well I don’t want to pick something you might shout by accident.”

“That’s definitely I’m not likely to shout during sex,” Cullen admitted.

Bull worked Cullen's breeches down, leaving them tangled below his knees. Somehow it left him feeling more vulnerable than if he’d been naked. Then there was the heat and weight of Bull’s body, not quite pinning Cullen to the mattress. “You weren’t shouting last night. You were begging, pretty boy. And I liked it. I think I want to hear a little more of that.” He ran his palms up Cullen's arms, holding his forearms to the bed. And then he started rolling his hips.

Cullen moaned. Bull’s mouth found the nape of his neck, and his teeth dug into Cullen's skin, just brushing up against the edge of pain.

“Yes,” Cullen breathed. This was exactly what he wanted, to be held down and taken.

Bull leaned away for a moment. Cullen noticed the loss of heat and shivered. There was a dirty chuckle from behind him. “Nice.”

“What is?” Cullen turned his head to the side.

“The way your ass shakes.” Bull slid his palms across the swell of Cullen's ass, up and down. When he began to knead, Cullen groaned, burying his blushing face into the pillow.

“Damn, Cullen. Too bad we can’t...” He cut off the thought with a growling grunt. Cullen felt him lean back down, breathing hot into Cullen's ear. His erection was growing against the cleft of Cullen's ass, now slick with oil. “So many things I’d do to you, pretty boy.”

Cullen bucked upward, trying to increase the contact between them. “What would you do?”

“You wanna hear all the ways I’d take you? All the things I’d do to make you beg until you’re out of your mind for it?” Bull continued to slide his now-stiff dick between the cheeks of Cullen's ass.

“Maker’s Breath, yes, I want that,” Cullen moaned into the pillow.

Bull yanked his hair back, pulling his face off the fabric. “What was that, pretty boy?”

“Yes, please, tell me, please I want to hear.”

Bull pushed him down flat on the bed, restricting his range of motion. He continued to roll his hips, grinding against Cullen. Each rut ground Cullen's own leaking cock against the now-damp fabric underneath him.

“So many things I’d do to you. Spank that ass till it’s nice and pink and hot. You think you’d like that? I could bend you right over my lap like a vashedan imekari, spank you with my hand.”

Cullen didn’t know what the Qunlat words meant, but he got the picture. “Yes,” he gasped. “Spank me.”

“Hmm, you want that pretty bad. Maybe you want more than my hand. Maybe you want a nice leather belt instead?”

Despite the Bull’s weight, Cullen bucked his hips, or at least tried to, a loose moan escaping his throat.

“Ahh, shit, yeah, you want it,” Bull growled. “Leave stripes all up and down your back and ass and thighs. You won’t be able to sit down the next day. That what you want, pretty one?” Bull’s voice was getting raspy.

“Oh Maker fuck oh yes,” Cullen babbled.

“Mmm, when I’m all done spanking you, what then? Maybe I’ll tie your hands behind your back and take that pretty mouth. Feel that tongue sliding up and down, yank your hair back, sink this dick down as far down your throat as it’ll go. You want that too?”

Cullen was already nodding and moaning.

“Pretty boy like you, bet you look mighty good on your knees.”

“Anything, anything. Please, Bull.” Cullen whined.

The Bull’s answering laugh was dark. He leaned right down, whispering directly into Cullen's ear. “Careful what you promise, pretty boy. Someone else might take you up on that. Someone else might hold you down, split that pretty ass wide open, and fuck you. Someone else might not wait for you, just take you as they please, fuck you hard and rough. Fill that pretty ass with come and then leave you laying there, begging. And you don’t want that, do you?” He punctuated the last question with a roll of his hips.

“Yes I want it. Fuck - Bull - yes.” Cullen pulled against Bull’s hands, desperate to reach down and stroke himself.

“Too bad I’m not that person, then,” Bull said. “But maybe I’ll give you just a taste. You wanna come, pretty boy?”

“Maker yes, please, Bull.”

The weight lifted off Cullen's back, and he was rolled over by huge hands. Bull pulled Cullen's breeches off completely, then reached once again for the jar of grease. One of Cullen's ankles was lifted to rest on Bull’s shoulder, and then he reached down with one finger and began to tease at Cullen's entrance.

Bull watched Cullen's face as he circled the band of muscle. The gaze seemed magnetic; Cullen couldn’t look away, even when Bull sank in up to the first knuckle.

Cullen had only ever done that to himself, a last resort when the normal routine wasn’t enough to sate the fantasies. Bull’s finger was much larger, and the angle was better, and he was slick and intent and his eye never left Cullen's and then -

“Oh!” Cullen gasped as Bull crooked his finger.

The smile Bull gave him seemed out of place with the frankly debauched circumstances. It was a heartfelt expression, almost joyous. “That’s it,” Bull breathed. “Right there.” His other hand began to stroke Cullen's length.

The sensations in tandem were overwhelming. Cullen's release was so close, and yet each time he thought he would tip over, the edge moved farther off. The pleasure began to build to almost painful levels.

Cullen was grasping at the sheets, his head rolling back, his back arched till just his shoulders made contact with the mattress. “Please,” he almost sobbed.

“Cullen,” Bull’s voice was insistent. "Look at me."

Cullen tried to relax, forcing himself to lie back so he could look at Bull. “Please?” he whispered.

Bull nodded. “That’s it. Come for me.” He increased the pace and pressure, and Maker, it was unbelievable. Cullen was shouting; a part of his brain registered that he was making too much noise, but he couldn’t control it. His hips bucked as he shot milky stripes on his own chest.

He was still shivering in aftershocks when Bull pulled his hands away. He knelt up over Cullen, pumping his own dick fast. As groggy as Cullen felt, he didn’t want to lay there, useless. He scooched down slightly, reaching up to cup Bull’s balls, pressing circles into his perineum.

“Oh _shit_ yeah,” Bull grunted. A moment later, Bull’s spend dripped onto Cullen's chest.

Bull collapsed forward, catching himself with one hand. He exhaled a shuddering laugh. “Damn.”

“I think we rather might actually be damned, after that.” Cullen grinned.

Bull rolled off the bed. “Well maybe if someone stopped calling out for the Maker all the time....” He laughed, grabbing a towel and tossing it to Cullen.

“Somehow I seem to have a limited vocabulary with you.” Cullen admitted, wiping himself off.

“That’s all right by me,” Bull said. He laid back down next to Cullen, lacing his hands behind his head in satisfaction. “Love me some Chantry boys.”

“Are we all alike, then?” Cullen hoped his outward laugh was enough to cover the flush of embarrassment. His lack of experience seldom bothered him, but faced with Bull’s obviously broad range of knowledge in the bedroom, suddenly he was self-conscious.

There was an infinitesimal pause. “Nah,” Bull said. “Aside from the Maker thing, that is.”

Cullen hummed in agreement, not trusting himself to say more. Perhaps it was the withdrawal hitting him, or just the aftereffects of the orgasm, but he was hit with a wave of regret. There was so much that he’d pushed aside to become a Templar. Somehow he always thought he’d have time. And now he had precious little of that left.

A tiny voice began to form the thought in his mind - _you can just run. Run, sell your sword arm, there’s black market lyrium available, go, live for yourself for once._

Cullen inhaled sharply, shaking his head to clear the thought. No. His choice was made. He tried to sit up.

“You okay?” Bull asked.

“Of course,” Cullen lied. He began to root around on the floor for his smallclothes.

“They gonna miss you, wherever you’re going? If you don’t come back?” Bull asked.

“I’m sorry?” Cullen turned around, confused.

“Nah. Forget I said anything,” Bull said immediately, waving him off.

“No - I just - what did you -” Before Cullen could finish asking Bull what he meant, the answer could be seen in the overly casual way Bull scratched at the base of his horns, looking everywhere in the room but at Cullen. “Are you asking me to stay?”

Bull shrugged one shoulder. “Nah, it’s just... it’s fine. Forget it.”

Cullen paused, then sat back down on the edge of the bed. “They won’t miss me.”

“Really?” Bull was very good at hiding the anticipation in his voice. Cullen could hardly hear it.

“Well... no. They will. But I’m quite sure I don’t care.” Cullen said, laying back down.

“Ha! Knew I liked you for a reason.” Bull said, arranging the blankets around them before blowing out the candle.

Cullen curled up against Bull’s side. It was surprisingly comfortable, and very, very warm. He hadn’t shared a bed since he was an initiate, but after all, Bull had given him what he wanted. The least he could do was return the favor. Clearly, it was the polite thing to do. It wasn't something he would have asked for, per se. Definitely not something he never knew he wanted, not something that felt impossibly right, not something he realized he might never experience again, laying awake in the darkness with the sound of Bull's breath.


	3. Two Mornings Before the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen spends the night with Bull. And then another.

_ I'm lying in bed with a Qunari. I'm lying in bed with a Qunari that I slept with. I'm lying in bed with a Qunari I slept with, and it was the best sex of my life. _

The last thought woke Cullen fully. He opened his eyes with a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Bull rumbled next to him.

“This is definitely the strangest circumstance I've woken up to. Ever.” 

Bull reached over, drawing Cullen close. “Well, I _could_ say the same, but I'd be lying. Strangest for me was the twin dwarf redheads.”

“Dwarves? Really? Isn't that a little... challenging?” 

Bull scoffed. “Nah. They have hands. Little tiny hands. And when there’s four little hands at the same time....”

“Ugh, Maker’s breath, don't say another word,” Cullen flung an arm over his eyes.

Bull’s laughter was contagious, and soon Cullen was laughing as well. He sat up, wiping the sleep from his face, and retrieved his clothing from the floor. It was rumpled; normally the sight of wrinkles galled him. He’d always been fastidious in maintaining his equipment, which included his clothes. Remembering why the clothes got tossed into a heap brought a little shiver of lust to his stomach.

“Hey.” Bull’s voice said from behind him.

Cullen turned, cinching the laces on his trousers. “Yes?”

Bull’s mouth was open to say something, but at the sight of Cullen, shirtless and with his thumbs hooked into his waistband, the Qunari instead shook his head and gave a low whistle. “Shit, Cullen, when do you  _ not  _ look good enough to eat?”

Cullen blushed. He bent to pick up his shirt and pulled it over his head. “I think perhaps your hunger is getting the best of you.”

“Maybe,” Bull conceded with a wicked grin. “Usually does.”

The socks and boots were dealt with. Cullen wasn’t in any particular hurry, but neither was he looking to drag out the proceedings. “I don’t suppose you have any idea of the time.”

“Just past seven bells,” Bull replied. He made no move to dress, seemingly content to watch Cullen as he moved about the room.

“In that case, I must go,” Cullen said. He really should be there before the morning guard rotation. And there was still a small mountain of paperwork to sort before he departed tomorrow.

“Too bad,” Bull said. “I was gonna buy you breakfast.” 

“Another time,” Cullen said automatically, looping his belt around his waist. As soon as the words left his mouth he realized that there probably wouldn’t be another time. It was an odd sensation.

Bull didn’t say anything, just tilted his head. 

Finally, there was nothing else keeping Cullen there. He looked around once more for any scattered possessions. “Well,” he said. 

“Well.” Bull agreed.

Cullen was at a loss. The last time he left Bull’s room, it had been in a hurry, and the Qunari was drifting off to sleep. This was different. He realized he had no idea what to do. Shake Bull’s hand? Salute? Thank him? 

“This has been... um. Fun?” Cullen tried the word out. Completely wrong, of course. It wasn’t ‘fun’. But he couldn’t very well say  _ this has been a life-changing experience, thank you for the sex, _ now, could he? 

Bull laughed. “Not good at this part, are you?”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Apparently not.”

Crooking a finger, Bull beckoned him closer. “Here. Lemme make it easier.”

Cullen sat down on the edge of the bed. Bull grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. 

It was unexpected, to say the least. And it certainly wasn’t a goodbye kiss, not by any standard Cullen had ever known. It was... passionate, really, and lingering. 

Bull pulled away fractionally. “See you around, pretty boy. You know where to find me.” He grinned.

Cullen rose, flustered. “Er. Yes. See you around, Bull.”

The day was humid, though not terribly warm. Cullen had difficulty concentrating. The nausea was coming more often, waves of mild discomfort that dragged his attention inward, to his body. And the remaining time was spent remembering the way Bull’s teeth gleamed as he smiled, and the way those teeth felt as they sank into the nape of Cullen's neck.

The door to his office was open later that afternoon when the Seeker arrived. Cullen was meeting with the Knight-Captain, reviewing the medium- and long-term recovery plans, to be enacted once the most major structural failures in the city were dealt with. 

“Am I interrupting?” Cassandra asked.

“Nothing important,” Cullen said. “We’ve been over this a hundred times. The Knight-Captain is just humoring me at this point,” he smiled.

His second-in-command gave a friendly salute and withdrew. 

Cassandra watched him go. “Our ship sails mid-morning. Are you prepared?”

“I’m packed, if that's what you mean,” Cullen said. 

“It is not.” Cassandra said. “Are you sure you still wish to accompany me to the Conclave?”

“I am,” Cullen said, now serious. “I feel I must.”

“And you still wish to -” She left it hanging.

“I choose to die a free man,” Cullen said. “Come what may.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “You may be surprised, Cullen. You have the will of a lion, and the Maker moves in strange ways. I admire you for coming to terms with your decision. But do not discount your own ability to endure.”

“No fear,” Cullen said. “I merely trust that your judgment in the matter will be unwavering.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “You trust too easily, but in this case, you are correct. I warn you, again, it will not be pleasant.”

“I know.” Cullen replied. 

She nodded, apparently satisfied. “Mid-morning. Do not be late.”

“I’ll be there.”

The rest of the day passed quickly. The setting of the sun took Cullen by surprise. He wasn’t sure where all of the last-minute crises were cropping up from, but they had to be dealt with. Finally the Knight-Captain simply grabbed the sheaf of reports out of Cullen's hands. “I’ve got it, Ser. Go. You’ve got a long journey ahead. Don’t spend your last night burning candles down over troop rotations.”

Cullen sighed. “You’re right. Thank you. It’s been an honor, Knight-Captain.”

“The honor has been mine, Knight-Commander.”

Cullen knew better than to try to eat. He walked back to his quarters. His bag was packed; it had only taken a matter of minutes to gather his belongings. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he contemplated another trip to the Hanged Man. 

The normal reasons to avoid such self-indulgence had lost their strength, easily outweighed by other justifications. It was his last night in the city, and he was on borrowed time. He’d taken no vows. He would do it.

Cullen's departure, however, had to wait, as the anticipation hastened the onset of his nightly sickness. There was nothing in his stomach, which was both a blessing and a curse. He ended up stripping down to almost nothing, as a wave of fever-sweat crashed over him. 

Distantly, he heard the bell toll eight times, then nine. Finally, he rose from where he’d been crouched over a bucket. He was shaking from fatigue and hunger.  He shoved his clothes back on. The sickness had taken longer, tonight. And he had to eat, lest his stomach churn in on itself all night. 

By the time he’d managed to choke down a few pieces of bread and an apple, it was late. Doubt began to seize him. Surely, Bull wouldn’t wait. Not this long. He’d made it clear he didn’t expect Cullen to come back. 

Cullen practically ran to the Hanged Man. He yanked the door open, now all but sure Bull wouldn’t be there. 

It was quiet; the drunks had all long since passed out or paired up. Yet there was a now-familiar horned silhouette at the back corner of the bar.

Cullen managed to not stumble or run, though he couldn’t be sure if his grin was reaching idiotic levels. Probably. Especially when Bull looked up and grinned. Not a lascivious leer, but a smile of genuine pleasure. “You made it.”

Cullen gave a breathy laugh. “I was detained.”

“Didn’t think you’d even try,” Bull said.

“As long as you’re glad I did,” Cullen replied.

Corff snorted behind the bar and rolled his eyes. 

“You don’t want a beer, do you?” Bull asked.

“Not even remotely.”

Bull laughed and chucked a few coins on the bar. 

A moment later the door to Bull’s room clicked shut behind them. Bull immediately pulled Cullen to him for a kiss. It was still strange, kissing like this. Cullen had always considered it to be something saved for more romantic activities. Something he would do with his wife one day, or maybe a husband. Certainly he’d never kissed any of the other Templars.

Bull seemed to enjoy kissing, however, and Cullen had to admit he did as well. Especially when Bull cradled the back of Cullen's head with one hand and stroked his thumb over Cullen's jawline with the other.

Cullen, meanwhile, had no idea what to do with his hands. Bull was just so _big._ He tried to put his arms around Bull’s waist, but the height difference was such that he ended up cupping Bull’s ass instead.

Bull growled in approval, flexing the muscles under Cullen's palms. He backed Cullen up to the bed, shoving him gently down to the mattress. “What’s it gonna be tonight, pretty boy?” Bull pulled the shirt over Cullen's head, then deftly worked the laces on Cullen's breeches loose. 

“Uh... I... um.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Damn, you’re so fucking cute when you’re bashful.” Bull grinned, shucking off his own trousers. “Come on, pretty boy. You can tell me all your dirty secrets.”

“I wanted to... see if you... um. Like you said last night. Only....” 

Bull’s hands stilled, and he leaned away from Cullen. He waited a beat. “You want me to fuck you.” 

Cullen wasn’t expecting him to sound so bleak. “Er. Yes?”

Bull sighed heavily. “Look, I don’t normally do that. Especially not for guys like you. Everyone thinks they wanna ride the Bull, but it’s a little more than most people can handle.” 

Disappointment and embarrassment shot through Cullen's chest. He didn’t ask Bull to clarify what he meant by “guys like you”. Apparently it was incredibly obvious that he was a virgin in that regard. 

Damn. He shouldn’t have asked. If Bull had wanted that, surely he would’ve offered the night before. Perfect. Now Cullen had ruined the mood, as well as his chances of ever enjoying this particular experience. He should’ve just hired someone at the Rose. Plenty of people to choose from. Wasn’t there an elf there, at one point? Quite pretty, as he recalled. Still, he didn’t want to do that. He wanted to share this with someone who would genuinely enjoy it. He wanted Bull. 

Bull was looking at him. Cullen roused himself. “Sorry. Of course. I understand. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Bull said. 

“No, no, I should have guessed you wouldn’t want to. Maker’s breath, I am terrible at this.” Cullen groaned. He covered his face in his hands and flopped backwards on to the bed.

“I didn’t say anything about not wanting it,” Bull corrected him. “Shit, Cullen, I didn’t even say no.”

“What?” Cullen moved his hands away, staring up at the ceiling.

“You always this pessimistic?” Bull raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

Bull clucked his tongue. “I’m just saying, it’s not like it sounds in the books. It’s gonna take a long time to get ready. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to go through with everything just because we start.”

Cullen sat up, resting on his elbows. “Is...  _ that  _ a yes, then?”

Snorting with laughter, Bull climbed over top of him. “Yeah. Yeah it is.” 

They had to start over, of course. This time Bull’s kisses were scorching. He nipped and bit and sucked and even just the way he was breathing was sending the blood rushing out of Cullen's head. 

Not that Bull wasn’t reacting the same way. Cullen could feel him getting hard, rubbing against his thigh. He tried to reach down, to wrap his fingers around Bull, but the Qunari pushed his hands away. “Not yet.”

Cullen gave a disappointed groan, but then Bull was moving down his body, dropping kisses and nibbles along his chest. He slid off the bed altogether, kneeling on the floor. Bull pushed Cullen's thighs up, supporting them with his hands, and then began to lick at his entrance.

The shout of surprise turned into an unintelligible moan of pleasure. Judging by the dark chuckle that Bull hummed into his skin, the Qunari was enjoying himself. By the Maker, it felt incredible. Cullen only had the faintest idea that people even did this because he’d read about it. He’d certainly never experienced it. 

After a moment, he relaxed into the sensation, concentrating on Bull’s tongue, trying to memorize the way it felt as it swiped over his skin. When Bull stopped lapping and began to probe, Cullen sighed. He tried to relax further, willing the muscles to loosen without knowing quite how to do it.

Bull stopped. “Hey. You’re fine. Don’t try so hard. Just lay back and enjoy it.”

Cullen choked out a laugh. “Easier said than done.”

Bull licked one long swipe up his perineum. “What do you normally do to turn your brain off?”

“Pray,” Cullen replied.

Bull’s laughter shook the bed. “Okay, don’t do that.”  Leaning away, Bull stood, favoring one leg. He limped to his pack and roots through it, pulling out a small jar. “Since this is a special night, we’ll go with the good stuff.”

Cullen furrowed his brow in confusion.

Shaking the jar, Bull winked. “Infused with elfroot.” 

The blush stained Cullen's skin from his hairline to his neck. 

“Ahh, there’s that pink.” Bull grinned, stretching out on his side next to Cullen. He scooped out a little of the grease on his finger, reaching down as he had the previous night. “You know this part feels good. Just relax.”

Cullen nodded, breathing carefully as Bull worked his index finger in. He glanced over at Bull and was caught in the Qunari’s gaze. It was intense. 

“Touch yourself,” Bull ordered. “Slow.”

The  _ slow  _ part was a challenge. Cullen complied, sliding his palm over the crown before stroking down. He reached down further, letting his fingertips explore how Bull was taking him. When he felt the slight stretch of his skin around Bull’s finger, he whimpered.

“Nice, right?” Bull smiled.

“Yes,” Cullen gasped.

Everything about it was slow, languid. When Cullen started to get swept up in the building pleasure, Bull smirked. “You ready for more?”

Cullen nodded eagerly.

Bull added another finger. It hurt, a burning ache, but it wasn’t unbearable. When Bull crooked his fingers, the tiny explosion of pleasure melted the remaining discomfort. Cullen began to move his hips, chasing that sensation.

“There it is,” Bull purred. “That’s what I like to see.”

“It’s good. Oh, it’s  _ good,” _ Cullen pulled insistently at his cock. 

“Not too fast,” Bull warned. “You want some more?”

“Maker, yes.” 

Three fingers was like nothing he’d ever felt. He was too overwhelmed by the sensation to be self-conscious as he writhed against Bull. 

“Fuck,” Bull breathed, a kind of reverence underlying his voice. “Cullen. You like it?”

“Yes, I like it. I like it,” Cullen groaned. “Please. I want... I want you, please.” The begging came easily to him tonight.

Bull reached his other hand down, stroking his own length. “Yeah? You sure? I’m good just like this. I could watch you all night.”

“I’m sure. Please. Please?”

“Damn, you beg so pretty.” Bull pulled his fingers away. He shifted Cullen to lay on his side, hitching one leg up. 

Cullen could feel the pressure of Bull’s cock. It seemed impossibly large, and he hissed at the burning stretch.

Bull started to pull back, but Cullen reached around to clutch at him. “No. Please. Don’t stop. I’m good.”

The pressure seemed less after a moment, as Bull maintained a slow, steady motion. With each shallow thrust he relaxed, edging out the discomfort. 

And then Bull pushed in just a little further, hitting that one spot. Cullen's whole body spasmed with pleasure. He shouted Bull’s name.

“Oh, fuck,” Bull grunted, his voice raw. “Fuck, that's it. Cullen, you feel fucking amazing.”

Cullen couldn’t form words to reply. His hand was still stretched behind him, resting on Bull’s hip. He arched his head backwards, trying to increase the contact between them. 

Suddenly, Bull was shifting them, rolling Cullen to his back. The sensation of emptiness was shocking, but brief. Bull slid between Cullen's legs, guiding himself back in while curling around for a kiss. 

It was impossible. Nothing should feel this good, the way they breathed together, the way they moved together, the way Cullen wasn’t quite sure where his own body began or ended. 

Bull leaned up, giving himself room to grip Cullen's cock. He didn’t stroke, instead relying on the motion of their bodies. “Good?”

“So good,” Cullen whispered. “So good, Bull. Please. Don’t stop.”

“I’m not gonna stop,” Bull said. “Not gonna stop till I feel you come.”

The whine Cullen gave was shameless. He wanted to come, but he also wanted it to never end.

“You close, pretty boy?”

Cullen nodded, his eyes tight with effort. 

“Yeah? I wanna see it. I wanna see your face. Look at me, pretty boy. Tell me how good it feels.”

“Ungh - I -” Cullen gulped for air. “It feels amazing. Maker, I love it. I love it so much. Bull, you’re so good, I’m going to... Oh. _Oh._ I’m going to come.”

And he did. Hard. He felt himself clenching around Bull, while the Qunari milking his cock. It was incredible. 

Bull pulled out, stroking himself to completion with a firm hand, before sliding to lay down. Cullen was confused, still overwhelmed with aftershocks.

“Why did you - you didn’t have to -” Cullen said.

Bull chuckled. “Trust me. You don’t want to deal with that, not for your first time. You’re already gonna have trouble sitting tomorrow. No point adding insult to injury.” 

“I wouldn’t call it an insult,” Cullen said.

Bull laughed, reaching down to find a towel. “Glad to hear it. Can you stay?”

“Yes,” Cullen said. 

“Do you want to stay, or are you just humoring me?” 

“I want to,” Cullen said. Which was basically true. It felt like a mistake, somehow, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. 

It was a lot easier to understand why the next morning. Because it was that much harder to leave. There was a heaviness to his limbs as he retrieved his clothing for the third and last time. “I’m leaving Kirkwall,” he blurted out, addressing the words to the boot in his hand. “Today.”

“Kinda figured,” Bull said. There was a resignation in his voice, buried deep under the casual friendliness. 

Cullen frowned. 

“Hey,” Bull said, leaning up to one elbow. “You all right?”

“I... I don’t know,” Cullen wondered aloud. He turned. “Thank you.”

Bull gave him a half-smile. “My pleasure.”

Haltingly, Cullen leaned in for a kiss. This was not scorching, or passionate, but bittersweet and brief. 

“Good-bye, pretty boy. Take care of yourself.”

Cullen rose. “Good-bye, Bull.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more. Cullen just doesn't know it yet.


	4. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen meets the Herald of Andraste following the explosion at the Conclave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... we skipped ahead.

The first time Cullen saw the Herald of Andraste, she was lying on a cot in a prison cell, whimpering in pain. She hadn't earned the title of Herald of Andraste yet, of course. She was simply a prisoner, presumed responsible for the explosion at the Conclave. Someday Cullen would like for his life to not revolve around explosions and chaos. Still, had he a moment to spare for such thoughts, he would be forced to admit the crisis did serve to distract him from the lyrium withdrawal, during the day at least. 

The prisoner was unconscious; her skin was sheened with fever sweat, and a rainbow of new and old bruises showed through the rips in her clothing. “She looks terrible.” Cullen frowned at the apostate sitting on the edge of the cot. 

It still felt strange, working side-by-side with a mage. And not even a Circle mage - Solas was a true apostate. Still, this is what the circumstances required. Cullen had to admit, Solas had exhibited excellent control over his abilities, and his knowledge of the Fade was proving crucial. 

“She survived an explosion that killed hundreds, and traveled bodily through the Fade. Tell me, Commander, how would you expect her to look?” Solas’ voice was calm, and mocking in that infuriating way that left no room for a rejoinder.

Cullen said nothing, his eyes trained on the woman - a minor noble from the Free Marches, according to Leliana. There was nothing about her that would indicate she was responsible for the explosion, save the mark on her hand. She looked like a minor functionary, used to a soft life surrounded by books and papers. A bit flabby, no scars, no callouses to indicate that she used a weapon or tools with any frequency. Still, such a person could perhaps walk unimpeded throughout the Conclave, as Leliana had pointed out. 

“She will regain consciousness soon,” Solas noted. 

“I’ll inform the Seeker at once,” Cullen said, glad for the excuse to leave. He found Cassandra outside the Chantry, speaking quietly with Leliana and Josephine. “Seeker. The apos- Solas,” he corrected himself with a wince, “- thinks the prisoner will wake soon.”

Cassandra’s face hardened to stone and her hand clutched the pommel of her sword. “Thank you, Commander. Sister Leliana?”

With a nod, the senechal followed the Seeker into the Chantry. Cullen watched them go. “Do  _ you  _ think she was responsible?” He glanced over at Josephine.

“A Trevelyan? Highly doubtful. They are a devout family. I understand Miranda is... less so, but surely casual agnosticism is not enough to lead one to mass murder.” Josephine’s brow was creased with worry. She sighed. “I am confident they will determine the truth. I will let you get back to your duties, Commander.”

The second time he saw the Herald was a few hours later, when Cassandra approached with the prisoner, on their way to the forward camp. Lady Trevelyan still looked terrible; shivering, occasionally clutching her hand in pain, the dirt on her face streaked with tears. But her gaze did not waver. This woman was clearly afraid, but she did not let that fear master her.

The third time Cullen saw the Herald was in the Chantry at Haven. This was the first time he saw her whole and healthy, the first time they spoke. She walked towards the war room next to the Seeker, her stride almost a strut, confident and assured. Her confidence was striking.

When Cassandra introduced the Herald, Cullen managed to mumble something self-deprecating about their forces, following it up with what he hoped was a heartfelt sentiment about the people who’d been lost.

“Is he always this optimistic?” Lady Trevelyan deadpanned the question to Cassandra in a stage whisper. A twinkle emerged in the Herald’s eyes, which strengthened proportionally to the blush spreading on Cullen's cheeks.

The Seeker’s lips quirked, and she quickly introduced Josephine and Leliana. Lady Trevelyan responded to them with much the same wit. The good humor didn’t last long. Cullen got dragged into the same argument over Templars versus mages that they’d been having since the Breach appeared. It was getting more difficult for Cullen to not lose his temper, doubly so today, when his withdrawal was itching just under his skin.

His annoyance was mitigated by the glance of interest Lady Trevelyan lobbed at him. It was the merest flick of her eyes up and down, but he caught it. It was unexpected, the novelty of it dragging his attention to something other than his discomfort.

He was still wondering about that look later that evening, in the tavern. Had she been... flirting? No. Impossible. He was imagining things. Cullen washed away the confusion with a deep drink of ale. 

The nightly nausea was no longer consistent, but he found himself visiting the pub most evenings, nursing a single pint for an hour or so. Amazing, really, the good it did. The gossip alone was worth it. And there was also a “humanizing benefit”, as Cassandra had put it, in being seen drinking with the recruits. 

“Curly! You’re looking extra pensive tonight. And extra pale, at that.” Varric clambered up on the stool next to him, gesturing at the bartender for a beer. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” Cullen said, far too quickly.

Varric snorted. “You keeping secrets again? You know I’ll get it out of you eventually. Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain blue-eyed Herald, would it?”

“What of the Herald?” Cassandra frowned as she overheard the last few words the dwarf said. “Are you gossiping already, Varric?” 

“Me?” Varric held his hand over his heart. “Seeker, I’m hurt.”

Cullen smiled, sipping his ale. He’d gotten accustomed to the rhythm of their arguments, having spent the entire journey over the Waking Sea with nothing else to distract him from his withdrawal sickness. It was comforting now, to hear them go at it. 

There was a presence at his other elbow, a sudden warmth. He turned to see the Herald. 

“I take it this is a thing,” Lady Trevelyan said, pointing at the bickering not-couple with her chin.

“You get used to it.” Cullen said, shifting on his seat to make room for her.

“I didn’t think Templars drank,” she said, settling herself on the stool comfortably.

“Well, they don’t, as a rule. But as I’m no longer a Templar....” He raised his tankard.

She did the same, toasting him, then took a rather healthy sip of ale. “Tell me, which do you miss more, wearing the long skirt, or the bucket on your head?” 

Cullen spluttered his mouthful of beer, choking with laughter. He hadn't laughed that hard since Kirkwall. The commotion caused Varric and Cassandra to cease arguing for a moment, looking up just in time to see Lady Trevelyan handing Cullen a handkerchief. “Are you always this droll?” he asked, wiping his chin.

She snickered, looking exaggeratedly around them. “Is that acceptable, having a laugh? I am in a tavern, drinking, right? Or did I fall into the Fade again?” 

Varric grinned. “I think I like you, Herald. I’m glad you didn’t die out there.” 

“Me too,” she said, the smile fading quickly. She took a drink to cover the moment. “You know, suddenly I’m quite tired. Must be the beer hitting me. I think I’ll just pop off for the night.” With a strained nod at the others, she slipped out.

“Did I miss something?” Cullen frowned.

Cassandra shook her head. “She puts on a brave face, but Lady Trevelyan has had no combat training. Which is why I came to find you. We must remedy that, if she is to travel to the Crossroads.”

“What? Are you - you’re serious.” Cullen looked back and forth between the Seeker and Varric. “Maker’s breath, why didn’t you tell me? I’d have come with you to the Temple.”

“I  _ am  _ telling you,” Cassandra pointed out. “And though your sword arm is formidable, you were needed here.”

“I’ll oversee her training myself,” Cullen said at once. “Maker’s breath,” he swore again. “I still don’t understand - how did she not - the first time I saw a demon, in the singular, I was with a squad of Templars and I still almost soiled my trousers.” He regretted the admission as soon as it left his mouth.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Be glad she is braver than most. She has already faced dozens of demons. And I fear there will be hundreds more before the Breach is sealed.”

The next morning, Lady Trevelyan found Cullen as he was shouting at the new recruits. Once again, she seemed to appear from nowhere, standing by his elbow quietly until he noticed her. “Oh. Er. Good morning, Herald.”

“Commander,” she said, her eyes twinkling as she bowed her head. “I’m told you’re the one to talk to about making sure I don’t pick up the wrong end of a sword?”

Cullen gestured towards their makeshift armory. “You jest, but many of our recruits are in the same boat. The key is to build on your existing skills. Farmers may never become master swordsmen, but most are quite comfortable with polearms.” 

“Mmm, well, unless you know of some secret skill that comes from reading a lot, I’m afraid I’ll be mostly useless. Not much activity in the life of a Chantry clerk.” 

“Well I wouldn’t say there was much opportunity for humor, either, and yet here you are.” Cullen smiled. It was easy to smile around her, he realized. Smiles had been in very short supply since the Conclave. 

She didn’t say anything, just glanced over at him. Her gaze dipped to his lips for a hair too long to be innocent, before she looked away. 

He blinked rapidly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Er, any other interests? Sport, perhaps?” 

She gave an indelicate snort. “No. Unless bar darts count. I like to ride, though. I suppose that’s something, right?”

Cullen nodded. He looked down at her rear without thinking about it. 

“Commander!” She laughed, tugging the her tunic down self-consciously. Her laugh was tinged with embarrassment. 

“Sorry. I was just looking at your legs. I mean - Maker’s breath.” He groaned, digging the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. “Skilled riders usually have strong leg muscles. We can use that.”

“We?” She laughed again.

_ “You. _ I mean,  _ you  _ can use that. It’s very important, actually. Aargh, let’s just get you outfitted before I say something else stupid.” Cullen shook his head ruefully. 

He led her to the stockpile of armor. “Let’s see. As much as I’d prefer to completely encase you in silverite, I think you should choose something medium-weight. You’ll need to be nimble.” He sorted through a stack of cuirasses. “Hmm.” He once again squinted at her, trying to size her up, and immediately regretted it. Lady Trevelyan was a voluptuous woman, and the tunic and leggings enhanced, rather than diminished, her curves. Under his observation, she cleared her throat, crossing her hands over her stomach defensively. 

Cullen wrenched his gaze away.  _ Wonderful. Fantastic. You’ve made the Herald of Andraste self-conscious about her physique. Really covering yourself in glory, Rutherford.  _

There was no reason for her to be self-conscious, not in Cullen's estimation. The Herald reminded Cullen strongly of Isabela, though Lady Trevelyan was, of course, wearing much more clothing. Thoughts of Isabela brought to mind his last days in Kirkwall. Not so much the days, actually, as the nights. A flash of huge Qunari hands raced through his mind, holding him strong and steady as he shook and came undone. Cullen blushed. “Ah. Perhaps we could... have armor made to fit.” His voice was a bit squeaky. He cleared his throat. “For today we’ll just give you padded armor. Should be sufficient against the practice weapons.” Cullen handed her an undertunic and a set of greaves and vambraces. 

Cullen attempted to change the subject. “You’re from the Free Marches?” he asked as she shrugged on the tunic. 

“Ostwick,” she said, her voice muffled by the fabric. “Ow. I - ow - seem to be caught,” she said, her arms trapped in the armor. “My hair.”

“Oh, allow me,” Cullen leapt around behind her. Her ponytail had gotten tangled in the lacing at the neck. Cullen freed the offending locks and helped settle the padding on her shoulders. “Trust me, it gets easier. First time’s always awkward.”

Lady Trevelyan snorted indelicately, then blushed. When she caught Cullen blushing as well, she began to laugh sheepishly. “All right, Commander. Make me deadly.” 

She proved to be a willing student, though it did not come naturally to her. However, by the end of the lesson, she had learned a basic defensive stance, and how to hold the sword and shield. At the very least, she’d be less likely to break a wrist or ankle. 

“I think that's enough for the day,” Cullen said. The Herald was sweating, and the tip of the sword was beginning to tremble as her muscles struggled.

“Thank the fucking Maker,” she gasped, laughing. “My legs are about to give out.”

He laughed. “You’ll get used to it. The first time I wore my armor, I could barely move the next day. I recommend a hot bath and a massage. Not that you’ll actually get either of those things in Haven, but that's what I’d recommend.”

The Herald looked like she was about to make a wry remark, judging by the coy smirk on her face. At the last second, she inhaled sharply and looked away. “Duly noted, Commander.”

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of activity, as usual. Thankfully, the withdrawal didn’t kick in until well after the Herald was gone. But when it did, it hit  _ hard. _ He was shaking, sweating, dizzy. Cullen skipped dinner, opting to retire early. 

With shaking hands, he prepared a brew of elfroot and spindleweed at the fire in his room. The herbs were fragile, dried with age. He’d been hoarding this meager stash since the Conclave, unwilling to draw down on the stores for the truly needy. The bag was almost empty now. 

Still, there was no way he’d be able to sleep tonight without it. Once he’d drunk the tea, he knelt before the fire, reciting the whole of Transfigurations 12. The ritual helped to calm his racing mind.

Usually, the tea and prayer was enough to get him to sleep. Granted, that's when the nightmares started. Still, even disturbed rest was better than none. 

Tonight, however, sleep did not come. Which was puzzling. The itching under his skin was tolerable, as was the dizziness. Why could he not sleep?

Then it hit him: today was the first day since the Conclave that he’d felt as though he could breathe. The Breach was stable. They had a real, tangible means to seal it entirely - the Herald. Lady Trevelyan, he had to admit, had a magnetism Cullen hadn’t seen since he’d met the Champion of Kirkwall. 

Thinking of Hawke, of course, brought up thoughts of Bull. The memories were bubbling close to the surface already. Cullen had fought hard to keep such thoughts buried. Lust wasn’t exactly a wholesome pastime, after all. And the brand he favored? Even less so. 

Still, the second Cullen closed his eyes, the sense memories boiled up. Bull growling in his ear, the weight and heat of his huge body seeming to swallow Cullen. The way Bull held him at the edge, begging and whimpering shamelessly. Maker, the  _ taste  _ of him.

That last detail goaded Cullen into action. With a groan, he loosened his rapidly stiffening cock from his smalls. He hadn’t intended to drag it out, but somehow he found himself holding back. His fingers traced up and down his length as he stared at the ceiling.

When he shut his eyes again, it was like Bull was in the room with him. Cullen actually felt crowded, claustrophobic, and yet at the same time it was comforting. He imagined Bull watching him, exactly as he was at that moment, sweating in his tiny cot. 

Cullen licked his hand, stroking slow, up and down. The smile he imagined on Bull’s face, wide and dirty and  _ fuck  _ -

“No.” He could almost hear Bull say it. What he  _ did _ hear, clearly, was the whimper that escaped his own lips as he arched off the bed. He stuffed his other hand into his mouth. He bit down, hard, just barely drawing back from the edge. 

He’d avoided thinking about Bull, especially like this: in control, bending Cullen to his will. During those three nights, they’d brushed up against the edges of Cullen's deepest, most shameful desire. He’d never admitted it to anyone, not even in confession to the clerics in the Chantry. Because surely there was something wrong with him, wanting to suffer at the hand of another, needing to cede himself so completely to someone’s will. Not just  _ someone’s _ will. To Bull, specifically.

Tonight though, the fantasy had gathered momentum before he could stop it. Cullen loosened his grip, forcing his breathing to an even pace. Cullen's imagination supplied a satisfied grunt from Bull. From there it was easy to picture the Qunari palming his own erection through his trousers. Easy to see, with eyes closed, the way Bull stood towering over him. Easy to hear the Bull’s quiet breaths whistling as he stroked himself, strong and steady. Easy to feel Bull’s other hand lacing through Cullen's hair, pulling his head back, staring down as he got closer and closer, the tip of his cock leaking, dripping on to Cullen's lips, until Bull shuddered, and...

Cullen came with a gasp, his eyes flying open, his whole body tensing. After a moment, he slumped back to the mattress, breathing heavy. Fatigue seemed to devour him, sapping his usual guilt over such self-indulgent behavior. He fell asleep almost immediately, and if he had nightmares, they left no trace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably don't really have to say it, but yes, Bull will be back. Didn't want anyone to think I pulled a ship bait-and-switch. ;)


	5. Rocky Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Trevelyan decides to recruit the Iron Bull.

The soldier loitering outside the Chantry looked familiar. Had Cullen been less preoccupied by Roderick’s sniveling, perhaps he would have remembered where he’d seen the man before. The Chancellor, however, had the uncanny ability to command Cullen's full attention, mainly by being as annoying as humanly possible.

As it was, the Herald brought it up later in the War Room. “So there’s a mercenary leader offering us his services. He sent his second in command  - I met him out front. I think perhaps I should go meet this mercenary. Calls himself the Iron Bull.” 

Cullen's blood ran cold. Then hot. Then cold again. His mind went blank, and he blinked down at the maps, struck dumb.

The others were discussing the relative merits of the mission. “What say you, Commander?” Josephine asked.

“What? Oh. Yes. I mean, no. Are you sure we want to hire soldiers? Seems a waste of resources. We’re not made of money.” As arguments went, this one was about as strong as a three-day old kitten. But it was the best he could come up with, as his brain seemed fully occupied with remembering the scrape of Bull’s fingernails down his spine. 

“True, but can we afford to turn down skilled help? I have heard of this group. They are known in Orlais,” Leliana noted.

Before Cullen could think of a response, Miranda pursed her lips. “I'll go, at least to meet him. Never met a Qunari before. Anything I should know?” She smiled playfully at Cullen.

His cheeks flamed. “Why are you asking me?” 

“Uh... they did invade Kirkwall, if I’m remembering correctly?” She laughed.

“They didn't exactly ask me to tea,” Cullen grunted. Miranda’s smile widened, the sunniness of her expression fighting against the bleak dread in his chest. “Anyway, this mercenary is Tal-Vashoth. Not a member of the Qun. They’re as different as we are to the Tevinter.” 

“Fair enough. Anything else for today?” The Herald peered down at the map.

Cullen barely heard the rest of the meeting. His thoughts were beginning to coalesce into panic. Bull  _ knew _ . He knew about the lyrium. Cullen had told no one. The possibility that Bull could be trusted with such a secret was laughably small. Cullen began making contingency plans. Perhaps he could travel with the Herald, under the guise of assessing the soldiers? No, too obvious. Cassandra could do that, and he was needed here. Perhaps they wouldn't hire him. Perhaps it was moot. Perhaps -

“Commander? Are you all right?” 

With a start, Cullen realized the meeting had ended and the others had filed out. Leliana was assessing him, her gaze cool.

“Fine, I'm... I'm fine.”

She gave him a pitying look at the atrocious  lie, but let him be.

The two weeks Lady Trevelyan spent in the Storm Coast passed in a blur of anxiety for Cullen. Well, the days were full of anxiety. The nights were occupied by unsuccessful efforts to avoid thinking about Bull, and then the inevitable need to find release in his own hand. Maker’s breath. It was ridiculous. What was he, seventeen? 

And then the Herald was back; her return seemed sudden after so much waiting. Worse, there was no opportunity for Cullen to intercept Bull for a private meeting. Instead, the Herald brought him straight to the war council.

“Cullen!” Bull boomed as soon as he walked in. His smile was wide as ever, and Cullen's stomach flipped over. Under different circumstances, it would have been a pleasant sensation. “Never thought I'd see you again. This where you snuck off to? Nice.”

Cullen tried to look pleased. He could feel his face was wrong, but there was not much he could do about it. “Hello again,” he said, shaking Bull’s hand.

“You know each other? Why didn't you say something?” Miranda frowned in amusement. 

Leliana simply frowned. More of a death glare, really. Keeping secrets from Sister Nightingale was not recommended.

“Er, yes, well. The thing is -” Cullen stalled, not looking at Bull. 

“We met in Kirkwall,” Bull supplied smoothly. “I was on my way in, he was on his way out. Had a couple drinks at the Hanged Man. Never got to see me in action though, so he probably didn't want to influence you into hiring me, just because we had a couple beers.” 

Cullen blinked in surprised relief. “I hope there's no hard feelings.” He wasn't aware of his double-entendre until he caught the glint in Bull's eye.

The meeting went on, with the Herald introducing Bull to the others. Cullen was just beginning to relax, when Bull cleared his throat. “So. We can talk about rates and things later. But you need to know. I'm not actually Tal-Vashoth. I'm Ben-Hassrath.”

_ “What?”  _ Cullen growled, glaring at Bull. “You’re a  _ spy?”  _ All hope of his chance for secrecy was shattered. The Qun probably already knew he was compromised. Cullen had seldom been this angry. 

Bull actually managed to look a bit guilty, holding up his hands. “Hear me out.” He began to explain that he would share the reports the Ben-Hassrath sent him. Something about shared intelligence benefitting them both.

Cullen barely heard it. He turned away from the table, rubbing the back of his neck and pacing. Luckily, he so often took this posture that no one paid him any mind.

Leliana seemed eager to collaborate. Cullen knew he couldn’t object, not on any basis that would hold water. He spoke little throughout the remainder of the meeting, which was thankfully short. 

Bull made no move to follow the others out. “So, Commander, why don't we talk strategy for a minute?”

It was as good an excuse as any to speak privately. Cullen nodded curtly, and Bull shut the door.

Cullen leaned on the table, his fingers gripping the edge of the wood till his knuckles went white. His anger had sapped his ability to speak.

After a moment, Bull broke the silence. “I didn't tell anyone, if that's what you're thinking.” His voice was sincere.

It took every ounce of willpower not to sink into that sincerity, to believe in it, to trust Bull. Cullen's laugh was hollow. “You'll pardon me if I don’t take you at your word.”

“You should.”

Cullen looked up at Bull. He was larger than Cullen remembered, looming over the war table, his arms crossed. Cullen could smell the spicy scent of horn balm and musk, and lust boiled through him. Gritting his teeth, he tamped the desire down. “Give me one reason.”

“I'll give you two. One, it's the truth. Two, if this is gonna work, you don't have a choice. Miranda trusts me.”

He was right, of course, but Cullen was still angry. He slammed his fist on the table. Mostly he was angry at himself, for trusting Bull back in Kirkwall, even a little. He shouldn’t have told Bull his name. He shouldn’t have slept with him. He shouldn’t have -

“Hey. Don’t beat yourself up. I don't normally go around announcing I'm a spy. Not good for business. The Qun sent me to check out the City after all the shit went down. Get some agents in place, that kind of thing. I didn’t realize who you were till after you’d left. Didn’t seem worth mentioning.” Bull stepped around the side of the table. 

_ “Not worth mentioning?” _ Cullen said skeptically. “You really expect me to believe that? ‘Dear Arishok. Today I found out the man I slept with was the interim Knight-Commander. Haven’t seen him in a week, oh well, perhaps the new one will also be frighteningly easy to seduce?’”

Bull shook his head. “I'd laugh, except for the part where you think that what happened involved anything other than me wanting you. I don't do that. I’m not that kind of spy. Yes, I told them you’d left, but it wasn’t exactly a secret, was it? And by the time I figured out where you were, I'd already decided to come work for the Inquisition. So. No reason to say anything, was there? We're on the same side.” He closed the distance between them. Cullen could feel the heat from his chest. “How have you been?”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension that seemed to have taken up permanent residence. “Fine,” he said, clipping the word as short as he could. 

It was a pathetic excuse for a lie, but Bull’s response was only to squeeze Cullen's shoulder. “I’m glad you’re still around. I worried.”

Cullen huffed a skeptical laugh. 

“What, you don’t think sometimes I actually like the people I spend the night with?” There was no response to that which would be anything but insulting, but luckily Bull continued before Cullen could twist in the wind for long. “I was relieved, when I heard you were with the Inquisition.”

“Why?” Cullen was having difficulty keeping up with this conversation. He’d imagined what he would say to Bull dozens of times over the past few weeks, but it never involved anything like this.

“Because. The man you were in Kirkwall, the things you saw, the orders you carried out - that was me, once. When you made the choice you did, I figured you went off to die someplace quiet, on your own terms. And I respected that. But the fact that you’ve come here, serve out the rest of your term doing the right thing? That's fucking incredible.”

The Bull’s approval washed over Cullen. He hadn’t known it would feel so warm. “Thank you.”

Bull nodded. “So I ask you again: how’re you doing?”

“It... comes and goes. I don’t get sick every night, but.... Most of the time, I can bear it. Stress makes it worse, but being idle makes it more noticeable. Sleep is an issue, but -”

The door opened just then, and the Herald peeked her head in. Her eyebrows widened in surprise when she saw how closely they stood. “I see I’m interrupting a reunion.”

“Nonsense,” Cullen choked, taking a step back from Bull, ignoring the way Bull’s hand seemed to linger on his shoulder. “What can I do for you, Lady Trevelyan?”

“Will you  _ ever  _ call me Miranda?” she sighed. “I wanted to see if you were up for a lesson today.”

“Of course. I’ll meet you in an hour.” Cullen bowed his head. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said to Bull. 

There were runners aplenty waiting for him outside the Chantry. It was over an hour until he’d addressed all the minor crises, and he jogged outside the main gate to meet Miranda. She stood, sword in hand, a shield already buckled to her arm. 

“I apologize,” he said, a bit breathless. 

“No problem. I know everyone wants a piece of the handsome Commander,” she grinned, glancing over his shoulder.

Cullen followed her line of sight. Bull stood in front of a group of tents a few dozen yards away, his lieutenant standing next to him. The Qunari had his arms folded, openly watching Cullen. He even waved.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen swore to himself. “Just what I need.” He shook his head and took a breath to reset himself. “Where did we leave off?”

“Riposte,” Miranda said, taking a defensive posture.

“Ah yes.” Cullen drew his own sword. He began to walk her through the basics, first demonstrating the footwork, then the way to handle the weapon. It was difficult. The Herald was not a natural warrior. She tended to ask complicated questions, rather than simply attempting the maneuvers. Her footwork was adequate, but her control over the blade had yet to see much improvement.

Today was especially bad, as she kept stealing glances at Bull. Cullen could hardly blame her. The third time she missed the opening he provided, she blushed. “I’m sorry. I’m having difficulty concentrating today.”

Before Cullen could suggest moving somewhere else, Bull walked up. “Looks like you’re struggling, Boss.”

“You could say that,” she laughed nervously. 

“You seem more a lover, not a fighter.” Bull gave her a grin.

Cullen knew exactly how it felt to get one of those smiles. He frowned at the jealousy which welled up in his gut.

“Look. I’m not sure a sword and shield is the best fit for you.” Bull said, now serious. “I mean, it’s a good place to start. Learn the basics and all that. Still, no point in beating a dead horse. You like to dance?” Bull asked, smiling again. He held out a hand.

“Er, what? I mean, yes, I do, but...” Miranda looked confused.

“Dance with me.” Bull said.

“What? There’s no music.” Miranda protested. 

“Doesn’t matter. Just follow along.” Bull grabbed her hand and twirled her into a spin. He led her through a complicated series of dips and twists. 

Miranda followed easily, shifting her body to mirror Bull’s with an easy grace and poised balance not hinted at during her lessons with Cullen.

Bull grinned. “I think daggers might be more your style,” he said. “Take advantage of the way you  _ move.”  _ Bull invested the last word with more innuendo than seemed possible for one syllable.

Miranda laughed in confused delight as Bull lowered her into a dip. “Daggers? You see me as a rogue?”

Cullen turned away. Suddenly it felt like there was a pulsing boulder behind his eyes, and his skin itched all over. The stress of the afternoon was wearing on him. And since it was clear his guidance in the “lesson” was no longer required, he beat a quiet retreat. 

Squinting up at the setting sun, Cullen figured could manage another hour, surely, perhaps even more, before Cassandra would drag him to the evening meal. 

It was closer to two hours, in fact, before the Seeker demanded he put down his quill and accompany her to the dining hall. He forced himself to eat, the withdrawal once again wreaking havoc on his appetite. Still, if he turned down food now, he’d only regret it later. 

“Come,” Cassandra said, pulling his arm towards the tavern. “You have been missed.” 

“I’ve been tired,” Cullen protested weakly.

“You can manage to stay awake for one ale,” she insisted. “The troops are beginning to wonder if you’ve taken ill.”

Cullen sighed and followed her. Inwardly, his stomach quivered, now from anticipation, rather than withdrawal. What if Bull was there? What if he wanted to talk? What if he wanted - what if he  _ wanted  _ -

Tripping over the threshold, Cullen caught himself before he knocked into Cassandra’s shoulder. She made a disgusted grunt, rolling her eyes, and took a seat at a table next to Varric. They began arguing almost immediately.

Cullen fetched drinks. Bull was not there; Miranda was also absent. Cullen frowned into his tankard. Though it was possible the two facts were unrelated, it was also possible that the most obvious answer was also the most likely to be true. Not that it was any business of Cullen's. He’d seen the way the Herald had glanced at Bull, and that was before they’d begun dancing. Easy enough to imagine moving such a lesson to more private surroundings. And if it wasn’t Miranda, surely it was someone else.

The ale in Cullen's tankard went surprisingly fast. Varric and Cassandra had barely concluded the first round of bickering before Cullen rose, yawning theatrically. “Well. I must be off. Have a good night,” he said, not waiting for a reply.

By the time he’d walked to the Chantry, Cullen had convinced himself that not only were Bull and Miranda probably intimately involved, but that it was a  _ good _ thing. Less temptation for him. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. The withdrawals were serving in that capacity quite well, thank you very much.

The only problem was, though the lack of temptation might be good in the long run, at the moment, it was extremely agitating. Cullen's hands rested on the heavy wooden doors. Perhaps a bit of a walk before bed would do him some good. Clear his mind.

He wandered down to the gates, intending to take a brisk jaunt alongside the shore. This would, of course, take him past the clot of tents that Bull and his men set up by the stables. He could hear their carouse from within the walls. Well. Nothing for it. Cullen forced his steps to move forward without faltering. 

Sure enough, the Chargers were gathered around a campfire, swapping bottles and jokes in approximately equal measure. Cullen did his best not to look, but even his peripheral vision was enough to alert him to the conspicuous absence of a seven foot horned figure.

Cullen relaxed into the disappointment that he’d been holding at bay. Of course Bull wasn’t there. Exactly as Cullen had suspected.  _ No reason to think otherwise, Rutherford. The sooner you realize it didn’t mean anything, the easier this will be.  _

His feet found the frozen shore. All thoughts of a walk disintegrated; instead he stood there, watching the Breach until the cold settled into his bones, silencing his thoughts. 

Footsteps crunched behind him. “There you are. Looked all over for you.” Bull came up to stand next to Cullen. 

Cullen blinked in surprise. “Did you?” 

Bull laughed. “That so tough to believe?” 

“I assumed you were with - ah, it doesn’t matter.” Cullen floundered, barely stopping himself from blurting out  _ sleeping with the Herald of Andraste. _

Bull grinned, letting him twist in the wind for a moment. “You thought I was with Miranda? She’s not exactly interested in  _ me, _ pretty boy.”

Cullen highly doubted that. Still, before he could say anything, there was a shout from the campfire.

“Come on, Chief!” One of the Chargers yelled over, causing a cascade of hooting.

With a laugh, Bull shrugged. “Well. Guess I gotta go. See you around, Commander.” 

“Have a good night, Bull,” Cullen said automatically. It wasn’t until he was back in his room, lying in bed, that Cullen realized he wasn’t at all sure what was going on. Well. Wouldn’t be the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sorry about the wait. I'm in the midst of moving. That's no excuse, I know. :D


	6. Delayed Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull manages to get some alone time with Cullen. It doesn't go as either of them expect.

Cullen's approach to handling the situation with Bull was to ignore it. There was a hole in the sky, after all. Mostly he didn’t have time to think about it. Over the next week recruits poured in, and the Herald prepared to visit Redcliffe to meet with Grand Enchanter Fiona. Cullen's opposition to the plan had been noted and then overruled. It rankled, but he had faith in the Herald.

It was well after sundown when Cullen dragged his feet to the tavern. Lady Trevelyan would be leaving in the morning, and most of the day had passed in war councils. A drink was definitely in order.

Varric was there, with that elf Sera. They were whispering quietly together until the dwarf spied Cullen. “Curly! Joining the minions for a drink?”

Cullen smiled. “The first step off the pedestal’s the hardest.”

Sera tilted her head, regarding him as he sat down. “Out with it. How’d’you do it, then?” She pointed at him with her chin.

“Do... what, exactly?”

“The haaaair. It’s always so perfect. Know it ain’t magic.” Sera smirked. 

“It’s a blessing from the Maker,” Cullen deadpanned.

“Never thought you’d be funny,” Varric laughed. “Why weren’t you funny in Kirkwall?”

“He was,” Bull’s voice said from behind him. Cullen felt a massive hand pat his shoulder as Bull sat next to him. “Once you got him out of his armor, anyhow.”

Sera’s eyes widened. Before she could say anything, Cullen deflected the conversation. “It was hard to find time for humor when your Commanding Officer was addled by red lyrium.”

“True enough. Bartrand changed pretty drastically,” Varric noted. He stared down into his beer. “Anyone else got some way we could bring this conversation down? I’m not hating life enough yet.”

“You wanna hear about the bodies I pulled out of a burned-down dormitory in Seheron?” Bull offered.

“Augh, you lot. You can’t make any of that funny.” Sera scoffed. 

“I could pretend there were bees in there, would that help?” Bull said.

Cullen laughed despite himself, glancing to the side at Bull and shaking his head. 

“How’re you liking the Inquisition, Tiny?” Varric asked Bull.

“Good boss, plenty of assholes to fight, and I get paid. Can’t complain.” Bull downed a third of his tankard in one gulp.

“Glad it’s you going to meet with the Grand What-its and not me. I said I’d follow the Herald, but I didn’t think she’d drag my arse in the middle of all those mages.” Sera shuddered.

“Mages don’t bother me,” Bull said. “They split in two if you hit them hard enough, just like everyone else.”

“I know the Herald’s itching to try her new blades,” Varric said. “She’s gotten quite good. Which makes my life easier. She was pretty rotten with a sword.” 

“Sometimes you just need to realize when you’re going down the wrong path, is all. The longer you stay on the wrong track, the harder it is to back away.” Bull said. 

“That’s mighty philosophical of you, Tiny,” Varric laughed.

Cullen frowned slightly. Were Bull’s words directed at him? The beginnings of a headache began to take root at the base of his skull. He drained his tankard. “Well. I must retire. If you’ll excuse me.” He rose and gave a short nod before he left.

He was almost to the Chantry when Bull caught up with him. “Hey. Commander. Hold up a second.”

Gritting his teeth, Cullen halted, mainly because there were people around. He turned. “What can I do for you, Bull?”

“Thought of something I need to talk to you about before the mission tomorrow. You got a minute?” There was a challenge in Bull’s question, daring Cullen to object in such a public place. 

Cullen nodded once, his jaw working hard. They walked into the war room without speaking. 

“What’s this about, Bull?” Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. The headache spiked suddenly.

“I was gonna ask you that same question.”

Cullen sighed in annoyance. “I don’t appreciate underhanded comments regarding my judgement.”

Bull blinked. “What?”

“Oh, come off it, Bull. We both know I should’ve pointed the Herald in a different direction in her training. If you hadn’t come along she’d still be fumbling with a sword and shield. If you hadn’t come along, she might have -”  _ She might have died, and it would be my fault.  _ Cullen sighed again. He wasn’t angry at Bull, not really. 

“Holy fuck, Cullen. That what you think? That you messed up? You’ve got a massive amount on your plate. I’m just a glorified bodyguard. Of course I noticed. My attention wasn’t split in nine directions at once.” Bull frowned in concern.

The pain in Cullen's head was nauseating. He rubbed at his temples. 

“Cullen. Listen. You gotta find some way to relieve stress. You’re killing yourself.” Bull said.

_ That's the idea,  _ Cullen thought automatically. He wiped his face with both hands, trying to stave off the pain and fatigue. It wasn’t until he caught the look on Bull’s face that he realized something was wrong. “What?”

Bull tilted his horns. “You said that out loud.”

Cullen slumped. “Maker’s breath, I didn’t mean it like  _ that,” _ Cullen insisted. “I’m on borrowed time, Bull. We both know it. I’m just trying to do as much as I can before the inevitable.”

“Seems to me you should be more concerned with finishing what you started.” Bull said, crossing his arms.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not taking care of yourself. It might be inevitable, but that doesn’t mean you gotta hurry up the process. And it might not be as inevitable as you think.” 

The pain in Cullen's head was maddening. Worse still, the old familiar nausea was making a comeback. “I can’t discuss this right now. Excuse me.” He rushed past Bull, clutching his stomach. 

Bull followed him down the side corridor where he kept his quarters. Cullen made it, barely, getting sick into a bucket he kept for just such a contingency. Bull was moving around behind him. A moment later Cullen felt a cool cloth laid on the back of his neck. 

“Headache?” Bull rumbled the question.

Cullen nodded, leaning back on his haunches. Bull reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, battered tin of horn balm. He smeared a tiny bit onto his fingers, then rubbed it into Cullen's temples.

It felt cold and warm at the same time. The sensation provided almost immediate relief, reducing the throbs to tolerable levels. Cullen groaned, his eyes falling closed and his neck going slack. 

Bull hummed. “Forgot how good you sound.” His fingers began to scratch circles along Cullen's scalp.

Maker, it was incredible. And wildly inappropriate. He needed to stop Bull. He couldn’t just sit there and let Bull just turn him into a quivering puddle with one touch. Clearly, the thing to do was to thank the man for the headache remedy and step away. Yes. That was exactly what Cullen was going to do. 

Except he didn’t. Instead, Bull left off the scalp massage and fetched a cup of water.

Cullen sat up on the edge of the bed and took the drink. “Just like old times,” he wheezed.

“Almost,” Bull nodded. There was a moment where he just looked at Cullen. “You got any medicine?”

Cullen shook his head. “I had spindleweed tea, but I ran out.”

“Lemme guess, you can’t ask Adan.” Bull rocked back on to his haunches.

“There are others more needy than myself, Bull.” Cullen reminded him.

Scratching at the base of his horns, Bull sighed. “You are a fucking piece of work, pretty boy.” He ran his hand over Cullen's back between his shoulderblades. The touch was brief; almost immediately Bull rose, moving towards the door.

“Please don’t go,” Cullen blurted out. 

Bull froze but didn’t turn right away. “You... want me to stay?”

Faced with the Qunari’s hesitation, Cullen slumped.  _ Of course he doesn’t want to stay, Rutherford. You had your fun. That's over and done with.  _ He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.” Cullen muttered the words quickly, trying to let Bull off the hook.

He sensed the motion of Bull’s body, but couldn’t bring himself to actually watch him leave. The feeling of Bull’s hands on his arms was startling. “Will you let me help you?” 

“You already helped me,” Cullen said, looking at him in confusion.

Bull didn’t say anything. 

“Fine,” Cullen said, defeated. 

“Is it that hard to admit you need help? You wouldn’t hesitate to call for reinforcements in the field.” Bull noted.

“This isn’t a battle,” Cullen protested.

“You sure about that?” Bull was pulling Cullen’s clothes off. Once he was stripped to his smalls, Bull helped guide him down to the bed, smoothing his palm over Cullen's shoulders and back. 

Though Bull’s touch wasn’t overtly sexual, Cullen found he was getting hard. It had been months since anyone had touched him, after all. He knew, intellectually, that it was a perfectly normal physical response. Still, he blushed helplessly when Bull turned him over. 

“You want me to take care of that?” Bull offered. He said it in the same tone of voice that he would use when offering to bring an empty tankard up to the bar. 

It hurt to hear Bull refer to sex so casually. Cullen had somehow got it in his head that what had happened between them in Kirkwall was....  _ You thought you were special. Maker, how could you be so naive?  _ He shivered as the realization hit him. 

“I... you... not if....” Cullen wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say. 

Bull paused. He brought a hand up to skate over Cullen's hair. Cullen pressed into the touch like a mabari, then winced at how pathetic he probably looked.

Bull merely repeated the gesture. “I got you, pretty one. Let me take care of you.”

Cullen nodded, grateful.

Bull’s hands were very skilled, and he seemed intent on bringing Cullen to his release as quickly as possible. It was over embarrassingly fast, as Cullen came with a surprised gasp. 

Bull knelt patiently by the side of the bed while Cullen recovered. “Better?”

Cullen managed a half-smile. His physical tension was lessened, that much was undeniable. So why did he feel so hollow? “What about... can I....” Cullen reached for Bull’s arm.

The Qunari pulled a few inches away. “Nah, I’m good. Don’t worry about me.” 

Cullen felt as though he’d been slapped. “Oh.”

Bull’s brow knit in concern, but he didn’t say anything. The moment lingered. 

Without really knowing why, Cullen reached up, cupping Bull’s cheek in his hand, just as the Qunari had done for him back in Kirkwall. He leaned forward hesitantly, ghosting his lips over Bull’s.

Bull barely reacted; he didn’t kiss back, only breathed into Cullen's mouth, a sharp exhale. Cullen pulled back immediately. There, apparently, was his answer. Clearly, whatever had happened with them before, Bull was no longer interested. “I’m sorry,” Cullen whispered. “I overstepped my bounds. I shouldn’t have.... I won't trouble you further.”

Bull growled in frustration, shaking his horns. “How about you try again.”

“What?”

“You surprised me, is all. Try again.” Bull suggested. 

Heart thumping, Cullen kissed him once more. This time, Bull kissed back.

“Oh Maker,” Cullen whimpered into Bull’s mouth. It was fantastic, a thousand times better than he remembered. It almost hurt to realize how much he’d missed this. 

Bull reached up, weaving his fingers into Cullen's hair, tugging with a firm hand. Cullen couldn’t stop the moan if he wanted to. His cock was already beginning to stir with interest.

“Damn, pretty boy. Already looking for seconds?” Bull chuckled. 

Cullen flushed. “Sorry,” he muttered. 

“When did this apologizing all the time thing happen?” Bull asked, putting a hand on Cullen's chest.

_ When I realized this is meaningless to you.  _ Wincing, Cullen stiffened with embarrassment.

Bull was looking at him with what appeared to be genuine concern. Cullen realized he was waiting for an answer. 

“I'm... not very good at this,” Cullen said finally.

“Okay, first of all, why don't you let me be the judge of that. And second, that's not what I asked you.” 

Cullen's mind went blank, paralyzed with indecision. There were so many emotions swirling through him, he couldn’t begin to tease them apart, much less come up with an answer. He opened his mouth, then shut it with an audible click after no words came.

Bull frowned. Cullen actually flinched away from the Qunari.  _ So much for making this worth his while. Dammit, Rutherford. _

“Hey. Hey, none of that,” Bull said gently, making Cullen wonder if he'd said that aloud, or if he was merely that transparent. “It’s okay,” Bull murmured. He gathered Cullen in for an embrace.

It was comforting in all the wrong ways, underscoring the fact that he needed comfort at all.  _ Maker, I am so pathetic. _

“We don't have to do anything,” Bull said. 

“No! I... I want to,” Cullen protested, panic dislodging the words. 

Bull didn't loosen his hold. “Please don't take this the wrong way, but you seem a little overwhelmed. And that's fine. But maybe not great for sex.”

There was a sudden stinging sensation in Cullen's sinuses.  _ No. You are not allowed to cry over this. Maker's Breath, pull yourself together.  _ “Do... would... would you want to, if I wasn't? Overwhelmed?”

The pause before Bull answered was less than two seconds, but it might as well have been a lifetime. “Yeah. Yeah, I would. You’re pretty irresistible.”

Whatever relief Cullen felt was offset by the knowledge that Bull was not exactly picky. Still, at least it was better than “no”. 

_ “ _ Cullen. You’re doing it again.” Bull growled. “I can feel you tensing up.” 

“I... thought this would be different,” Cullen managed. It was even true. 

Bull laughed. “You and me both.” Before Cullen could get sucked into another maelstrom of doubt, Bull pulled back far enough to look at him. “How about a rain check? If you, y’know, still wanna tomorrow. Or. Well, not tomorrow. When I get back from Redcliffe. Sometime.” 

Cullen nodded, trying on a smile. It didn't quite fit. “You’re leaving, then?” 

Looking at the narrow cot, Bull raised an eyebrow. “Not much room for me,” he pointed out.

Cullen hadn’t realized how much he’d missed sleeping next to Bull until that moment. Like with his kiss and touch, once Cullen's body realized there was a possibility, however small, of experiencing those sensations again, the craving was sharp and intense. “I suppose you're right,” Cullen said, trying to sound casual rather than disappointed. 

With a breathy snicker, Bull nodded at the door. “Always room in my tent.” 

Cullen blinked. “Really?” He rose up on to one elbow.

“It was a joke, Commander. I don’t expect you to sleep on the ground if you don’t have to.” 

Slumping, Cullen nodded. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

Bull was looking at him like he had two heads. “You would, wouldn't you? You’d come sleep in my tent if I let you.” 

Cullen frowned stiffly. “What of it?” There was nothing to be ashamed of, after all. They were both consenting adults. 

“Holy shit, Cullen. What am I gonna do with you, pretty boy?” Bull said, smiling and shaking his head.

“Well I had some perfectly good suggestions ready a moment ago,” Cullen grumbled.

Bull laughed, and it burned away all the lingering confusion in the air. “Fair enough. Listen. You keep that list fresh in your head. Because I got some ideas of my own. We can start checking things off some other time, okay? A little anticipation never hurts.”

Cullen laid back on the bed, sighing. “As you say.” 

Bull hauled himself to his feet. “Mmm, looks like you're already getting started on one of mine,” he winked. He ran a finger over Cullen's lips, then leaned down and followed with his mouth. It was a brief kiss. “Get some sleep, Commander. That's an order.”

“Ser yes ser,” Cullen mumbled. Sleep was starting to creep in on him. He managed to keep his eyes open just long enough to see Bull let himself out, still shaking his head in disbelief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trash, I know. Sorry not sorry.


	7. Admission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will things ever go as Cullen expects? Probably not.

A few days after Bull went to Redcliffe with the Herald, Cullen finally made it to the cluster of tents to welcome the Chargers. He’d intended to greet them sooner, but the never-ending chaos in Haven pushed the task to the bottom of the priority list. 

The lieutenant was out in front of his tent, watching the Inquisition recruits as they sparred. His salute was lazy, but there was respect behind the gesture. Cullen held out a hand. “Cullen Rutherford.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of who  _ you  _ are, Commander.” His eyes glinted as he shook Cullen's hand. “Cremisius Aclassi. You can call me Krem.”

The familiarity gave Cullen pause, but he forged ahead. “Krem, then. I came to see if you were well provisioned. Anything you need - equipment, that sort of thing?”

One by one, troops began to gather around, emerging from the tents and looking at Cullen with undisguised interest.

“Is this him, then?” A blond elf with vallaslin and a terribly disguised mage’s staff asked. “He  _ is  _ pretty.”

“Oi, none of that,” another elf said, jostling her elbow. This one was a City elf by the look of her.

“Shut up, you lot, you’re making him go all pink.” Krem smirked. 

A dwarf with a handlebar mustache snorted.  _ “Pink.” _

“Ah....” Cullen was rapidly realizing he was out of his depth. He cleared his throat. “Provisions?”

“Right. Chargers! Get your minds out of the gutter! We need anything?” Krem looked at the Chargers. A blond human grunted and cocked his head towards the smithy.

“Good point. Grim wants access to the smithy.”

Cullen nodded, glad the conversation was back on solid ground. “Of course. I’ll set it up right away. Anything else? I can grant you access to the alchemy tables as well, if you can supply your own herbs.”

“That would be most appreciated,” Krem said, nodded in approval. “Stitches gets tired of setting up over a campfire. Anything we can do for you?”

Cullen thought for a moment. “We’ve got a researcher on hand. If you, ah, liberate anything you think could be of use from our enemies, I’m sure it would be appreciated.”

“Done. Pleasure to meet you, Commander.” Krem once again held out his hand, shaking it firmly.

Cullen strode away. Something - in all honesty, everything - about the encounter seemed strange. Informality was to be expected among mercenaries. Still, there was a level of intimacy among the Chargers that was puzzling. Especially concerning him, personally. 

There was little opportunity to dwell, however. That afternoon a raven flew in with a cryptic message regarding the rebel mages. Something had gone wrong. The Herald was returning home.

Lady Trevelyan and the others rode in a few days later. There was a newcomer with them, a Tevinter mage with an immaculate moustache, stupendously buckled robes, and the most arrogant expression Cullen had ever seen on a human being. And apparently he had the manner to go with it; he barged into the war room like he owned the place. Still, the man’s council was sound, and his help was too crucial to turn down. 

Cullen didn’t have a chance to speak to the Herald privately until later that evening, when he arrived in the tavern. “Lady Tre- Miranda,” he amended. “May I sit?” Cullen gestured at the empty seat next to her.

“Of course, Comma-Cullen,” she winked. 

“Old habits,” he apologized. “I wanted to ask you, did you run into any combat?”

“Yes. Er. I did,” she said, suddenly preoccupied with her ale. 

“And?”

Miranda went pale. “Yes, well. Who knew I’d become adept at killing?” She laughed nervously.

“I wish I could say you never get used to it.” Cullen sighed sympathetically. “Are... are you... uh. All right?” It felt odd to ask her such a personal question.

“Not really,” she admitted. “The people are... Do you forget their faces, eventually?” She stared straight ahead.

“Not all of them,” Cullen said quietly. Maker, this was difficult. He felt a pang in his chest, warm and familial, like he wanted to... did he really want to _hug_ the Herald of Andraste? He shoved the urge down. 

As Cullen floundered to come up with something to say, the Herald took a last sip, then set down her empty mug and rose. “Well. I am exhausted. Travel always wears me down. Bed for me, I think.”

Cullen rose to his feet. “Would you care for an escort to the Chantry?” 

Miranda squinted at him. “I think I can handle it.” 

“Right, of course, I... of course.” Cullen stammered.  _ Maker’s breath, you idiot, you just offered to accompany the Herald of Andraste to her bed. _

Miranda tilted her head, reconsidering. “Though... if you’re with me, there’s less of a chance Roderick will give me the stink-eye. Or more. You never know.” Miranda’s grin was slow, and her eyes twinkled.

Something in Cullen's stomach quivered. Was she flirting? Because she thought he was? Or was it the other way round? Or... just because she wanted to? How does one tell, exactly? By Andraste, he wasn’t very good at this.  _ Say something, you moron. _ “That is... an excellent point, Lady Trevelyan.” 

“That’s decided, then. Shall we?” She gestured towards the door.

Cullen followed her out. Once away from the noisy tavern, panic began to set in when Cullen realized he had nothing to talk about. “So. Um. The Tevinter. He seems... interesting.” 

“You know, I think I quite like him. Turns out we’re distant cousins.” Miranda strolled next to him, looking up at the stars.

“Really?” Cullen was grateful for anything to ground the conversation. 

“It seems my side of the family inherited all the humility, though.”

As it so often happened when talking with the Herald, the laugh boiled up within Cullen with no warning, bursting out with an undignified snort. He attempted to cover the sound with his hand and failed spectacularly. This drew a long, low chortle from Miranda, who looked at him from the corner of his eye.

Cullen eventually recovered. “Well, having met him, I have to agree with you there.”  

“Are you saying you think me humble?” Miranda smiled.

“I think you are... quite remarkable.” Cullen admitted. He was still trying to think of some way to end the thought when he realized he had let it linger unfinished for too long. Anxiety took root as the seconds began to pile up. Because he didn’t mean it  _ that  _ way. Did he? No, surely not.

The Chantry, thankfully, loomed close. Cullen hurried ahead to pull the doors open, grateful for the distraction. Miranda, for her part, made no mention of the awkwardness. And then, in a stroke surely sent from the Maker above, Roderick was lurking just inside the doors. His sneer when he saw them together was nothing short of legendary. Cullen had seen Grand Enchanter Orsino twist his face into well-nigh impossible scowls, while Meredith could curdle milk with the movement of one eyebrow. Roderick had them both beat. 

Miranda snickered audibly, deepening Roderick’s frown. This caused Miranda to laugh even harder, clutching at Cullen's elbow. Cullen patted her hand gallantly and gave Roderick a formal nod. The Chancellor was practically quivering with rage. It was  _ intensely _ satisfying. 

Miranda shared quarters with Leliana and Josephine, just off the war room. Cullen walked her to the door.  _ This is where you say something, Rutherford. Something respectful. Something not too forward. Something - _

“So, Comma-Cullen, end of the line.” The Herald cut into his train of thought. “Thanks for the chance to see Roderick looking like he’s holding back one hell of a fart.”

Cullen snickered. “He did look rather discomfited, didn’t he?”

“A bit,” Miranda allowed. She focused her gaze somewhere around his left shoulder. 

Cullen cleared his throat. “Well. Mission accomplished, I daresay.”

“Indeed,” Miranda said. Her eyes sparkled as they glanced over his. She took a deep breath. “Commander. I... I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m sure.”

“Tomorrow,” Cullen nodded. “Rest well. Um. Miranda.” He choked the name out instead of her title. 

After three seconds that might have well been an Age, Cullen gave a salute and withdrew. He hadn’t  _ meant  _ to flirt, exactly. Had he? Maker, this was impossible. Not to mention completely inappropriate. She was the Herald of Andraste. 

Best not to think about it. He had enough to worry about. Not the least of which was finding Bull. He hadn’t gotten a chance to see the Qunari since his return from Redcliffe. And he very, very much wanted to see Bull. 

Not that the situation with Bull wasn’t fraught, in its own way. It had gotten... complicated, at least for Cullen. Bull’s casual approach to physical intimacy would be a lot easier to accept if the Qunari wasn’t also so damn considerate. It was confusing, that the huge warrior could in one breath hold tenderly him while he recovered from sickness, yet in the next treat sex as nothing more than a glorified handshake. 

If that wasn’t bewildering enough, Cullen had spent decades burying his desires. Something about Bull dragged that lust right up to the surface. If Cullen wasn’t careful, it would break free. And he’d surely lose any further chance to be with Bull, once the Qunari knew the depths of his depravity. 

Cullen hesitated, biting his lip. It was late, but he could conceivably return to the Singing Maiden. Perhaps Bull was there? No. Ridiculous. Cullen wasn’t so sex-starved that he couldn’t wait another day or so. He’d gone years without sex. The right thing to do would be to find his bed. The withdrawal wasn’t as troubling when he’d slept enough.

Turning on his heel, Cullen made his way down the side corridor towards his quarters. The hallway was currently occupied by a huge, horned figure, loitering just outside Cullen's door.

Cullen swallowed against the thump in his chest. “Welcome back.”  _ Did I stammer? Maker, please let me not stammer. Not now. _

“Thanks,” Bull said. 

Cullen stood in front of Bull, trying not to fidget. It was his turn to say something. Possibly it would have been easier to think of actual words if his mind wasn’t overwhelmed by thoughts of Bull’s hands and mouth and....

“You alright?” Bull’s brow was furrowed in concern.

“What? Yes.” Cullen began to sweat. 

“You sure? You’re shaking.” Bull noted. 

Jaw clenched, Cullen lowered his head, his eyes squeezed shut.  _ Dammit, Rutherford. Pull yourself together. _ Cullen could feel his cheeks flaming, but he refused to open his eyes. When Bull lifted his chin between thumb and forefinger, Cullen had no choice but to look up. 

“Damn, pretty boy,” Bull murmured. “You better get us into that room quick, before I push you against the wall for everyone to see, take a taste of that sweet mouth.”

Blinking rapidly, Cullen found his voice. “I’m... I’m not scared. If they see.” There wasn't actually anyone about; the chances of someone walking down the corridor were slim. Still, it could happen.

Bull’s grin was wicked. “Like it when people watch?”

Without meaning to, Cullen scrunched his nose in distaste. “No. I... I’m just... Bull, I’m not _embarrassed.”_

It was Bull’s turn to look confused. The smile slid from his face. “Oh. Well. I... uh. Okay.” 

Cullen had never seen Bull look so off-balance. He laid a hand on the center of Bull’s chest.

Bull hissed on the inhale, and exhaled a growl. “You better open that door, or I’ll give you something to be embarrassed about.” 

Cullen didn’t need to be told twice. He fumbled with the latch, Bull crowding him from behind. The room was dim, lit only by the moonlight filtering in through the narrow window. Bull pushed him into the room. “Strip. I’ll be back.”

With fumbling fingers, Cullen hurried to comply. He heard the door shut behind him. The seconds ticked by. Cullen wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Should he get in the bed? Bull hadn't said he should. And what was Bull doing? How long was Cullen going to have to wait?

Thoughts of what might be in store began to crowd out the discomfort of waiting. His cock began to twitch and thicken. Maker, he’d thought of countless scenarios over the last few weeks. 

The door opened behind him, and he saw the glow of a candle reflect on the opposite wall, throwing his silhouette into flickering relief. Cullen held still, waiting.

Bull moved behind him, and the light grew. He must be lighting candles, Cullen realized.

“Wanna make sure I can see everything, pretty boy,” Bull said. “Don’t want to miss a second.”

Cullen hoped the tremble running through his knees wasn’t visible. It was an idle hope, he knew. Nothing seemed to get past Bull. 

The sense of heat loomed behind him. Cullen concentrated on keeping his breath as even as possible. No easy task, when he could smell Bull’s scent, musk and leather and spice. 

Bull’s voice sounded close to his left ear, so close Cullen could feel the Qunari’s breath curve around his neck. “What’s it gonna be, pretty boy? I see you've been thinking about it.” He reached around, sliding his palm against Cullen's erection.

Moaning, Cullen lost his balance as he bucked forward. He recovered, and with a shuddering breath, he sank to his knees. He didn’t trust himself to speak without stammering or sounding like a scared teenager.

“Holy  _ fuck,  _ Cullen.” Bull breathed. The Qunari came around to face him. His face was open and soft, his eye wide with something like reverence. “Damn.” He trailed a finger over Cullen's lips. 

Cullen fought the urge to ask if it was alright. Bull didn't seem displeased; just the opposite, in fact, if the twitching under his trousers was any indication. He stood very, very close, his knees almost touching Cullen's shoulders. 

The motion in Bull’s breeches was right at eye level, and Cullen found himself staring. He licked his lips in anticipation. 

“Go on. Just like that.” Bull commanded.

Cullen had no sense of how it would feel for Bull underneath the fabric, but his eagerness to please was stronger than his fear of doing it wrong. He obligingly ran his open mouth over Bull’s length. 

He hadn’t expected for it to be such a sensual experience. It was quite enjoyable, in fact. He rubbed his cheeks and face along Bull, breathing in his scent through the cotton.

Bull swore quietly in Qunlat. “Damn. Cullen. That's nice. That's exactly it.” 

Cullen began to shiver, not from anticipation, but from cold. He hadn’t added fuel to the banked embers in the fireplace, and the stone under his knees transferred the chill quickly.

“You’re shaking,” Bull noted.

“Cold,” Cullen muttered, not wanting to stop putting his mouth on Bull.

When Bull pulled away, Cullen leaned after him, until his forward progress was halted by huge hand on his shoulders. Cullen looked up, worried he'd done something wrong. 

Bill was watching him intently. There was a long pause. Cullen shivered continuously. 

“Why didn’t you build up the fire?” Bull asked.

“Y-you didn’t say to.” Cullen hoped the stutter would pass as his teeth chattering and not confusion.

Bull didn’t say anything for a long time, his face a blank mask. “I know you like it a little rough, but I’m thinking you want something else. You want to do what I say?”

Cullen screwed his eyes shut. He had no self-control, not like this, not when he was brushing up against the edges of the thing he’d tried so hard to deny. He nodded, sighing heavily. Maker, what would Bull think of him now? He steeled himself for Bull to pull away.

But Bull didn’t move. Instead, he spoke again. “You want to suffer for me?” 

At the word  _ suffer _ Cullen shuddered with his whole body, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. Because, sweet Maker, he wanted that so badly. Everything he’d read about it was illicit. Filthy, shameful, maybe even unnatural. It must be. Surely there was something wrong with him, to want that. 

But Bull didn’t look disgusted. He didn’t look excited, either. He might as well have been carved from stone. 

Cullen had come this far. And now the hunger had been fully awakened in him, given a name. He swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. “I... yes. Yes, I want that. Please.” His voice broke a bit, but he managed to maintain eye contact.

Bull took a deep breath, then knelt down. He put his hands on Cullen's arms, rubbing up and down. The friction felt abnormally hot on Cullen's skin. “Look. I can give you what you want, pretty one. I can make you suffer in ways you've never imagined. And when I end that suffering, it's gonna be like nothing you know. You're not gonna have the words to describe how good it feels. But if you do this, you do it because you  _ want _ it, not because you think you  _ deserve _ it. I don’t play like that. You can go to your Maker for that. We clear?”

Cullen slumped with relief. “You don’t... you don’t think I’m....” He didn’t know how to put it. 

“Think you’re what, broken? Dirty?” Now the judgement was thick in Bull’s voice, but directed toward the world at large, perhaps, at the world that allowed such destructive ideas to take hold. “You think there’s something wrong with  _ me _ for wanting to make you suffer? ‘Cause let me tell you, Cullen, I want it pretty damn bad.” 

Wide-eyed, Cullen shook his head. The Qunari had clearly experienced most of what there was on offer when it came to sex. Cullen was practically giddy with relief.  _ There’s nothing wrong with me.  _ He started to laugh, breathless and shivering and just on the edge of hysteria. 

Bull wrapped those huge arms around him. The sensation broke something down in Cullen; his laughter trailed into a single hiccuping, dry sob. 

“Shit, Cullen, how long you been thinking there’s something wrong with you?” Bull murmured the words into the side of his head.

Cullen didn’t trust himself to answer. He was barely holding it together as it was. Instead he leaned into Bull.

“Put your arms around me,” Bull said. The words were an order. 

Once his arms were circling Bull's waist, Cullen squeezed tightly, almost clutching at Bull. He was so  _ solid. _ Just a huge wall of hot Bull that seemed to go on forever. 

“That’s it,” Bull cooed. “I'm right here. Not going anywhere. Right here.” He stroked the hair on the back of Cullen's head. “Now. I asked you a question.”

Cullen had to think a moment to understand. “Always. Since I found out it was possible.” Even now, with Bull's absolution still lingering in the air, Cullen felt himself draw back to self-recrimination. Because surely, wanting to suffer was somehow wrong. 

“Hey, relax,” Bull said. “Nothing’s wrong with you. You're fine. You’re good.”

The words seemed both balm and scalpel. Cullen tried to nod. There was that tingling in his sinuses again, flaring up at  _ you're good. _ Cullen forced himself to breathe through it.

“How do you know you want this?” Bull asked. “I know you haven't done it.”

“I... read about it.” Cullen admitted.

“And?” 

Confound the blasted Ben-Hassrath. How could he possibly know Cullen hadn’t told him everything? He’d never told anyone about it. He didn’t do it often, only when his palm and fingers weren’t enough. The guilt would consume him for days after. “I spank myself. Sometimes.” Cullen said it in as quiet a voice as he could manage. 

Bull hissed, and he squeezed Cullen tight. “Damn, that's a pretty picture,” he grunted. “You use your hand? A belt?” Bull smoothed his hands across Cullen's back.

“Yes.”

Bull hummed. “So you were serious, back in Kirkwall. When I talked about spanking you. You really want it. Thought you might, but sometimes people get wrapped up in the moment, say they want things when they really don't. And that's good too.”

Cullen didn’t know how to answer that, so he held still. That stillness stretched between them for a long moment. 

Eventually Bull spoke again. “You okay? You seem tired.”

The implication was clear: Bull didn’t think Cullen was up to having sex. Again. Cullen crumpled against him, defeated. How had he managed to foul this up a second time? With a deep sigh, he pulled away from Bull. 

Or, he tried to. Bull held him steady. “Whoa, where you going? I only asked if you were tired, pretty boy.”

“Yes. I’m tired,” Cullen confessed. He knew Bull was going to abandon him again. Because he was so weak, clearly. He couldn’t even obey properly. 

“That’s what I thought.” Bull still hadn’t let him go. “The things I want to do to you, pretty boy.” He gave a breathy growl. “But you need to be up to it.”

Without meaning to, Cullen whined in disappointment. Maker, could he possibly be any more pathetic?

“Mmm, I like that,” Bull said. “Already trying so hard.”

The approval was unexpected and flooded Cullen with warmth. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to get in that bed. You’re going to drink a cup of tea. You’re going to sleep. And I’m going to come back in the morning. And I’m going to fuck your brains out. How does that sound?” Bull was laughing a bit by the end of his proposal.

Cullen laughed too. “I don’t have any tea,” he pointed out.

“Just get in bed, pretty one.” 

Cullen did as Bull asked, tucking himself into his blankets. The Qunari rose and collected a small cloth sack - he must have dropped it by the door earlier. The smell of fresh elfroot and spindleweed filled the room.

“Where did you get that?” Cullen demanded.

Bull chuckled. “They grow out of the ground, you know. All you gotta do is bend over and pick ‘em.”

It took a second for that to sink in. “You... picked them? Yourself?” Cullen boggled.

The Qunari was busying himself by the fire, stoking it to life. “That so hard to believe?” He set the kettle over the flame.

After a moment, Cullen realized his mouth was opening and closing like a fish. So he clamped his jaws shut. 

Bull didn’t speak again until the tea was ready. He turned and handed it to Cullen. “Drink up, beautiful.” 

Cullen managed to choke it down without laughing. Because it was rather ridiculous, lying in bed, being spoonfed tea hand-picked by a Ben-Hassrath spy. Who was his sometime lover. Or would be, if Cullen ever got his act together. 

Bull knelt by the bed, watching him drink the tea. The herbs were potent; Cullen began to feel drowsy before he finished the cup. He wanted to ask Bull why on earth he was going through so much trouble. Fatigue, it seemed, had other plans for him. Cullen was trying, and failing, to stifle a yawn. Bull’s grin widened. “Good. That's that I like to see. Need to conserve that energy for me.”

Bull continued to talk, but Cullen couldn’t focus on the words. He drifted, the low rumble of Bull’s voice rocking him like a cradle. Slumber overcame him. He didn’t see Bull’s brow knit in concern once Cullen's breath lengthened into sleep. He didn’t hear the last few words that Bull murmured to him before slipping out into the night. 


	8. You Don't Mind Waiting, Do You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Bull eventually get some time together. As always, it does not go as Cullen expects.

As it so often happened, Cullen woke as if the world was on fire. Gasping, he jerked awake, his heart thudding. He could still see the glistening purple skin of the desire demon, tempting him with the face of his first love. 

This time, however, he had an audience. Bull was there, lounging in the wooden chair next to the bed. His feet were propped up on the end of Cullen's cot and there was a book in his hands. “Morning, gorgeous.” Bull folded over the page he was reading and set the book down. 

Cullen breathed through the hammering of his heart, willing it to still. Normally he would recite the Chant to calm himself. Somehow the sight of Bull drove thoughts of Andraste from his mind. And then a prickle of apprehension crept up Cullen's spine. “You didn’t stay all night, did you?”

Bull chuckled, but didn’t answer the question. He stood, looming over Cullen. “You always wake up in a panic attack?”

Digging the sand from his eyes, Cullen took a deep breath. “I believe I asked you a question first.” He raised himself to one elbow. 

“Fair enough. No.” 

There was a pounding at the door. “Commander. Council in one hour.”

Slumping, Cullen fell back to the bed. “Acknowledged, one hour,” he called out. 

Cullen's stomach was still churning from the nightmare. He was very conscious of having let Bull down repeatedly, and now it was happening yet again. No doubt the Qunari would lose patience soon, and probably interest as well. At least this time Cullen could blame it on the interruption, rather than his own weakness. 

Bull was still looking at him. The sound of footsteps in the corridor receded. “An hour. I can work with that.” His smile gave the desire demon a run for its money.

Cullen blinked rapidly, trying to will the disgust from his nightmare to fade away. He’d said he wanted to do what Bull told him. He just hadn’t expected it to work like his. Cullen tried to calm the rising panic, keep it from showing on his face.

It didn’t seem to be working. Bull’s smile eroded. 

Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Cullen inhaled sharply.  _ Well, there’s your answer, Rutherford. Should’ve known better than to hope.... _ Cullen didn’t even bother to finish the thought. He sat up and swung his feet off the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees. 

“Cullen. Tell me about the nightmare.” The command was clearly outlined in the Bull’s voice.

Sighing, Cullen provided a clinical version of the events at Kinloch. He busied himself by pulling on his socks and smalls while he spoke, glad for the excuse to avoid eye contact.

Bull shook his horns. “All that happened  _ before _ you went to Kirkwall? Shit.”

“Yes. Well, now that I’ve ruined everything, I should get breakfast before the meeting.” Cullen stood. It was a bit easier to acknowledge his disappointment in himself with a veneer of humor.

“Nothing’s gonna make me want you less, pretty boy,” There was a gentleness in Bull’s tone that was at odds with the crude words. He didn't move his legs from the bed. Huffing in annoyance, Cullen tried to step over Bull's legs. Bull grabbed him once his balance shifted, dragging him into a straddling embrace, his back to Bull’s chest.

The Qunari’s strength was breathtaking. “How about I decide what's working for me, hmm?” Bull rumbled. His arms tightened, squeezing Cullen even closer. 

Cullen began to relax fractionally.

Bull murmured against his neck. “Cullen. I will never, ever ask for more than you can give me.” 

The words were reassuring; a coil of tension began to loosen in Cullen’s chest. 

“Did you think I was gonna pressure you just now?” Bull asked.

Wasn’t that the whole idea? Was this a trick question? Cullen didn’t answer right away.

Bull sighed heavily. “That’s not how it works. Look. Would you ever have sex with someone who was sick, or exhausted, or having a panic attack?”

“Of course not,” Cullen said, trying to turn around. 

Bull held him steady. “Then what the hell makes you think I would?”

Cullen blinked. The reassurance was fleeting, however. Because he was seemingly always sick, exhausted, or having a panic attack. He laughed bitterly. “Surely you could find someone who manages to go a day without hitting all three.”

Bull’s laugh washed through Cullen. “Why don’t you let me worry about that?” The feeling of Bull’s mouth on the nape of his neck was a shock of heat and wet, followed by the pinch of teeth. Cullen arched back against him, a tiny moan breaking free. Maker, it felt good. Bull’s hands began to roam over his chest, pinching his nipples. Cullen felt like he was melting. He wanted to move against Bull, but the teeth were holding him in place. 

Bull let go, kissing down the side of his arm. And then he pushed Cullen up, giving him a friendly smack on the ass. “Come on, pretty boy. Let’s get some breakfast.”

Cullen finished getting dressed, using the ritual to cover his confusion. He had no idea what was going on, but he felt... actually he felt surprisingly good. It made no sense, but feeling anything but some form of “awful” was a small victory, and one he wouldn’t turn down.

The sense of oddly pleasant bewilderment lasted most of the day. And the tiny seed of arousal that Bull had planted grew steadily over the hours. In mid-afternoon, Cullen went to the training area as usual. Bull was lounging outside his tent, alongside his lieutenant. Cullen caught the Qunari’s eye as he made his way to Ser Rylen. Bull’s smirk was devilish, and Cullen could have sworn that he winked. 

It was difficult to concentrate. Though it was surely his imagination, Cullen could practically feel Bull’s gaze hitting him in the back of the neck, where his teeth had lodged in the morning. Cullen found his hand kept creeping to rub at his neck. At one point, Cullen was idly massaging the spot, and he turned. 

Bull was openly staring at him. He grinned and saluted lazily. There was nothing overtly sexual about the gesture, but Cullen felt the flush of interest in his cock. 

“Commander?” Ser Rylen yanked his attention back to the dispatch in his hand.

“What? Yes. Quite. Have the new recruits outfitted and added to the training roster. Aside from the two archers.” Cullen consulted the list. “Baker, and... Cooper, was it? Send them to Sister Nightingale. I think their skills are better suited as scouts. Wouldn’t hurt to have her owe me a favor, for once.” 

“Understood, Ser,” Rylen nodded. 

Cullen waited for him to withdraw before he turned and made his way to Bull. The Qunari said something to Krem, and the Tevinter laughed and made himself scarce. 

“Bull,” Cullen said politely.

“Commander,” Bull grinned. “How goes it?”

“Passable,” Cullen said, trying to keep himself from smiling too much or stammering. “And you?”

“Eager to finish something I started this morning.” Bull folded his arms. 

Cullen licked his lips. “Ah... I... er, I also seem to have some unfinished business.”

From inside the gates, the bell tolled, marking the end of the day’s work for most of the Inquisition. Bull laid a hand on Cullen's shoulder, squeezing it. “Been a long day. Maybe you should get some rest before dinner.”

“I... usually go over the reports until dinner.” Cullen apologized.

“The status updates.” 

“Yes.”

“The ones Rylen already went over.” 

“Er. Yes.”

“The ones that contain precisely zero items that need immediate action, because those get brought to you right away.” Bull tilted his horns.

“Uh. Yes?”

Bull just nodded thoughtfully. His hand was still on Cullen's shoulder, but he’d worked his thumb into the gap in Cullen's armor and was rubbing small circles. 

“Perhaps I could... skip a day,” Cullen reasoned.

Bull continued to nod. “You could.”

Cullen found himself nodding as well. Once he realized what he was doing, he shook himself. “I’ll take that under advisement. Perhaps a rest before dinner might be a good idea.”

“Perhaps.” Bull dropped his hand.

Finally, Cullen laughed helplessly, scratching his eyebrow. “Well. Ah. I’ll, just....”

“Cullen.” Bull leaned closer. “Get that armor off. Do you a world of good.”

Cullen fled to his quarters. Removing his armor was such a deeply ingrained habit that the shaking in his fingers posed no obstacle. He stoked the fire, building up the flames to just shy of roaring. Normally he wouldn’t waste fuel, but normally he wasn’t expecting to be naked. 

That taken care of, he floundered. Should he have shaved? Or bathed, perhaps? He splashed his face in the basin. It felt good, so he shrugged off his tunic and swiped his chest with a damp cloth.

There was a rap on the door. Cullen froze for a moment, trying to decide whether to put his shirt back on. But the last thing he wanted was to seem coy, not after all of Bull’s waiting. He yanked the door open, towel still in his hand.

Bull’s gaze traveled over the bare skin, and he eye widened in appreciation. “Nice.”

Cullen blushed. He stood to the side to admit Bull, then turned and shut the door. Bull crowded behind him, putting his hands on either side of Cullen's head, trapping him against the door. He wasn’t touching Cullen at all, but it felt incredibly intimate. 

“You trying to get ready for me?” Bull growled.

Cullen nodded.

“Nice. I like that you’re trying to please me.” Bull breathed. 

“The least I can do, for making you wait so long,” Cullen said.

“Hey. Hey, none of that. You didn’t  _ make _ me wait. It wasn’t a fucking chore, pretty boy. You don’t owe me anything. I’m here because I want to be here. We clear?”

Cullen swallowed hard, and he nodded again. He was rewarded with a thumb drawing down the back of his neck. 

“Might need another little taste, that good with you?” Bull leaned down and nipped.

It was sharper than this morning, and Cullen yelped. It didn’t hurt, exactly. It was just a surprise.

“Is that a good noise, or a bad noise, I wonder?” Bull swiped at the spot with his tongue.

“Good,” Cullen whimpered.

“Yeah?” Bull bit again. 

This time it did hurt, but it was welcome, a twinge that receded quickly. Cullen shivered. “Harder. Please.”

“You sure, pretty boy? You want me to mark you?” 

Cullen's knees almost buckled. “Maker, yes.” 

Bull pulled Cullen's hips backwards, so their bodies were pressed together. Cullen could clearly feel the outline of Bull’s cock along the cleft of his ass. And then Bull leaned down and sank his teeth into the nape of Cullen's neck, sucking hard around the pinched skin.

It was incredible, an ache that bloomed outward, radiating through his body, the sensation combining with the anticipation of the pleasure to come. 

Cullen whined, shuddering, bucking backwards into Bull. The Qunari’s hands wrapped around his chest, holding him up. Which was good, because when Bull let go, Cullen collapsed, overwhelmed.

“Mmmm, that's what I like to see,” Bull hummed, tracing the mark Cullen's skin with one finger. “That pretty skin, with my mark.” 

Finding his balance, Cullen rose. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He was achingly hard, trapped in his leathers. “What... what can I....”

“Don’t worry, pretty one. You can’t do this wrong. I won’t let you fail.” 

Cullen quailed, almost losing his balance again. He might as well have been made of glass, as the blasted Qunari seemed to see right through him. Cullen hadn’t even realized how nervous he actually was about... whatever was to happen next, until Bull’s reassured him. 

He felt himself being spun around, and Bull guided him to the bed. “Down. On your back.”

Cullen did as he was told. Where should he put his hands? It felt odd to just leave them at his sides. Across his chest? Behind his head? His limbs skittered about as he tried to decide.

Bull watched him fidget, and he smiled. It was a warm expression. “You don’t know what to do with your hands?”

The blush flared to life on Cullen's face, and he shook his head.

“You want me to tell you?”

“Er. Yes. Uh. Please.” Cullen said.

Bull’s smile widened. “Damn, you are precious. Look. We’re not gonna do anything crazy okay? Not today. We need to have a long, long chat first. Right now, just put one hand over your head, leave the other by your side.” 

As he spoke, Bull knelt beside the bed. He unlaced Cullen's leather breeches, the erection straining under the thick material. Leaning over, he nuzzled at the patch of exposed hair, just at the base. 

“Oh, Maker,” Cullen sighed, arching into the touch. The vibration of Bull’s answering hum was a pleasant buzz. 

Bull pulled the breeches down inch by agonizing inch, continuing to tease with his nose and lips. It seemed an age before Cullen sprang free. Bull ignored the erection but didn’t stop, rubbing his cheeks along the line of Cullen's hips, breathing deep in the thatch of fuzz. 

“Mmm, pretty boy, you smell so good.” Bull ripped the breeches down the rest of the way, no longer teasing. He gathered the little bit of moisture that was leaking from Cullen on to the tip of his finger, which he then presented to Cullen's lips.

Cullen hesitantly licked Bull’s finger, watching his face for confirmation that he was doing the right thing.

“That’s it. Go on. Can’t have you making a mess, now, can we?” Bull smiled. “Make sure you get it all.”

Closing his lips, Cullen began to suck gently, trying to keep his teeth out of the way. Bull slid the finger in and out, humming in appreciation. “Oh, that's exactly right. Nice and gentle, pretty boy. That's perfect. See how good you are at this?” 

The words jarred something loose in Cullen; he squirmed, moaning around Bull’s finger, but he managed to not let go. Bull moaned as well, an encouraging kind of sound. “Touch yourself. The way you normally do.”

It was so close to his fantasies, Cullen was tempted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Though that was so often a part of what he imagined, it might not be a good indicator that he was awake. He stroked slow, brushing his palm over the slit. 

Bull pulled his finger away. “You always take your time?” 

Cullen shook his head.

“Faster, then. I’ll tell you when to stop, pretty boy.” 

Nostrils flaring around the suppressed gasp, Cullen fucked into his fist, swallowing hard. Meanwhile Bull pulled himself free of his trousers, letting the fabric pool around his feet. He stood right at the side of the bed, palming himself. “A little dry for my taste. Why don’t you help me with that?” He leaned forward, dipping the tip of his cock into Cullen's mouth, spreading the moisture over his length with the motion of his fist. 

Cullen's hand was pumping fast now. The edge was creeping up faster than he’d expected. Bull  leaned away, watching him carefully. Cullen didn’t dare slow down. “I... I’m close,” he whimpered.

“I know you are, pretty boy. And you’re gonna stop for me, aren’t you?”

“Ungh,” Cullen winced, pulling his hand away. He grit his teeth together.

“Fuck, that's good. So good at this. Damn. Look at you.” Bull ran the fingers of his free hand down Cullen's cheek. 

Without thinking, Cullen turned his head, trying to capture the motion with his lips. 

“Ah-ah. I need that mouth empty. How else am I gonna hear you beg, precious?”

Cullen's hips bucked up into empty air as he whined. “Please?”

“That’s it. You want to finish yourself off?” 

Nodding, Cullen curled his hands into the sheets to keep them from creeping across his body. “Yes, oh please, yes.”

“All right, pretty boy. You can touch yourself. But you don’t get to come till I say.”

Cullen used both hands this time, keeping his thumb and forefinger around the base, tugging insistently with his other hand. 

Bull grinned. His breath was fast and shallow, and he fucked his fist ruthlessly. “Tell me, pretty baby. Tell me how bad you want it.”

The words came flooding out of Cullen, a babbled stream of pleas that were barely coherent.  _ Maker please Bull let me come I need it so bad I need it I need it I’ve been dreaming of this since Kirkwall please please let me come I’ll be so good please please --  _

“Fuck!” Bull shouted, spurting all over Cullen's chest and neck. 

The pollen scent was thick in the air, another layer of torment for Cullen. He left off begging, whimpering, watching as the Qunari tilted his head back, milking the last few drops from himself as his breathing slowed.

When Bull’s eye opened and he smiled down, Cullen felt like it wasn’t quite real. Cullen was still touching himself, though his hand had slowed and his grip had lessened to almost nothing. It was all he could stand. It ached, the pleasure was so intense. “Please.”

Bull knelt down and gently pulled Cullen's hands away from his cock. 

The sound that came from Cullen's throat was strangled. His hips bucked once into the empty air. Bull watched his face, stroking his arms and chest. After a half a minute, he drew his fingers through his own spend, then slicked it over Cullen's cock, pumping lazily. 

“Ah - please - Bull!” Cullen whined through gritted teeth.

Once again, Bull let go, his eye seeming to devour Cullen's desperation. Twice more Bull slid his hand down, bringing Cullen to a hair’s breadth of completion, and then pulling away. Finally, he sighed with deep satisfaction. “Fuck. So good, waiting for me. Flawless. Look at you, trying to please me.”

Cullen sucked air in and out through his teeth. “Please.” 

The corner of Bull’s mouth pulled into a smile. He licked his palm and corkscrewed it around Cullen's shaft. “All right, beautiful one. You can come now.”

Cullen's world exploded. His senses slammed into him all at once; the sound of Bull’s fist slicking over his cock and the crackling of the fire; each fold and crease of the rough linen sheets under his body and the drops of his own spend landing on his belly; the scent of pollen and sweat and horn balm and leather; the faint taste of blood from where he’d bit his lip to keep from coming. 

Bull was still smiling down at him. The Qunari tangled the fingers of his other hand through Cullen's sweat-soaked hair. “You did so good. Perfect.” 

The praise soaked into Cullen; he was sure he was grinning like an idiot but he couldn’t seem to stop. When his breath was stable, he started to laugh. “I made a mess.”

“Mmm, did you ever.” Bull gazed at his chest, a hungry glint in his eye. “Look at how beautiful you are.” He captured Cullen's mouth in a kiss. It was slow and sweet and Cullen didn’t have much basis for comparison, but he could swear it was almost loving. 

Bull pulled away. “Someday I’ll make you clean all that up. Not today, though,” he said, taking note of Cullen's shiver. “You did so well, pretty one. Lay still.” 

Cullen felt the damp towel dragged across his chest. “Thank you.”

Smirking, Bull shook his head. “You definitely do not have to thank me for that, Cullen. I should be thanking you. How do you feel?”

_ Amazing. Fantastic. Alive. Whole.  _ Cullen cleared his throat. “I feel good.”

“Yeah?” Bull grinned impishly. “Well that's good. Only been waiting, what....” Bull looked up at the ceiling, counting the days in his head. “Three weeks?”

“I was going to say my whole life,” Cullen admitted. He froze; was that a bad thing to say? Perhaps it was too much? Too intimate? Too desperate? Maker’s breath. 

Bull was still smiling, though a twinge of something that looked suspiciously like longing ghosted across his face. But then it was gone. He took a deep breath, stretching his neck from side to side. “You wanna grab some dinner? I’m starving.”

Cullen breathed a bit easier, grateful that his awkward declaration didn’t ruin things. “Dinner sounds wonderful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GOD YOU GUYS. I know I've been whining about moving but I finally did it! JFC what a hassle. But I have a roof and wifi and all that stuff now so I can finally get back into the swing of things. I hope you enjoy this chapter, after all that interminable waiting! SYMBOLISM.


	9. Who Writes This Stuff, Anyway?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull's not the only one teasing Cullen. It's what comes after that makes the Commander turn a delightful shade of pink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next time I start a long fic and decide to give each chapter a title, will someone do me a favor and slap me? It's the worst part, I swear.

After the explosion at the Conclave, one of the first orders of business had been to arrange for food for refugees and volunteers. One of the larger barns at the outskirts of the hamlet was pressed into service as a dining hall. The food was plain, and those arriving late might miss their chance for much, but through the grace of the Maker, almost no one went without more than one meal in a row. 

Tonight, the dining hall was half empty when Cullen and Bull arrived. Cullen realized he had no idea how long he was in his room with Bull, but apparently they missed the start of the meal. There was still a bit of stew left, though it was mostly turnips by this point. The bread was long gone as well. 

“Damn, pretty boy, we do this again, I’m gonna have to hurry you along,” Bull murmured the words quietly as he leaned over to heap the stew into a bowl. 

Cullen blushed. “I’ll do better next time,” he mumbled.

Bull wasn’t looking at him, busy picking through the apples left in the bowl. He selected a specimen, tapping it with a nail to see if it was fresh. “Can’t possibly do better than you did. But we need to change the subject, unless you want me to bend you right over this table.” He plonked the apple onto Cullen's plate casually, as if Cullen had asked for it. 

Cullen's brain was too busy imagining the scenario Bull described to point out that the Qunari had brought it up in the first place.

“Commander!” Miranda’s voice snapped him back to reality. 

He turned. She was picking over the remains of a meal, sitting with the Tevinter. Grinning, she waved them both over.

Bull sat next to her, leaving the seat beside Dorian for Cullen to take. “Hey Boss.”

“How lovely. A meal with our resident half-giant,” Dorian drawled, cocking an eyebrow.

“Me put food in face,” Bull grunted, nodding slowly. He stared right at Dorian, scooping up a bit of stew with his hand and smushing it into his mouth, which he then proceeded to leave open while he chewed.

Miranda collapsed into gales of laughter. Cullen narrowly avoided choking on his food, sneaking a look at Bull. He had wondered how the Tevinter and the Qunari got along, and here, apparently, was the answer. 

Dorian managed to maintain his composure, though the twitching of his moustache indicated it was a close call. With a flourish, he handed Bull a napkin across the table. “Very amusing.”

Bull winked at him. “I try.”

“Tell me, Commander. You’re a military man,” Dorian said, turning his attention to Cullen. “Do you, by chance, play chess?”

Before Cullen could answer, Bull butted in. “Hey! I’m a military man. How come you didn’t ask me?” As he spoke, he pressed his foot along the outside of Cullen's leg, bringing it down so that their calves were pressed together.

Cullen blinked rapidly. There was no way the gesture was accidental. He tried to keep his head down, concentrating on his dinner while Dorian and Bull continued to trade barbs.

It hit him after a moment that Bull was actually flirting with Dorian. When Cullen realized, his head jerked up. 

Bull very casually glanced across the table at him, smiling. It was so seamlessly integrated into his conversation with Dorian that Cullen wasn’t sure the smile was even directed at him, except for the corresponding shift in Bull’s leg. 

“Ugh, you’re impossible,” Dorian rolled his eyes at Bull. “Anyway, I believe I asked you a question, Commander, before I was so  _ rudely _ interrupted.”

“You like it,” Bull grinned.

Dorian shot Bull a disapproving sidelong glance without turning his head. “Chess?” He asked Cullen sweetly, batting his eyelashes.

“Er, yes. I play chess,” Cullen ventured. 

“Capital!” Dorian sat up straight. “We shall have to have a game, you and I. I yearn to see what the handsome Commander has in store for me.” His eyes glinted, one eyebrow raised provocatively.

_ Don’t look at Bull. Don’t look at Bull. Don’t look at Bull. _ “I would... enjoy that,” Cullen replied.

Miranda laughed. “Do you flirt with everyone you see, Dorian?” 

“Only those who bathe regularly,” he quipped, casting a challenging glance at Bull.

“Oh, the Commander is clean as a whistle,” Bull leered, shifting his other foot in between Cullen's ankles. 

Cullen could feel the blush bloom across his face. It wasn’t just embarrassment. Bull’s earlier mention of cleaning up the mess he’d made caused his heart to thud in his chest. By the look on Bull’s face, he knew precisely what Cullen was thinking. The Commander rubbed the back of his neck, pressing his fingers to the bruise left by Bull’s teeth. Bull’s smile widened.

“You great brute, look what you’ve done. He’s embarrassed, poor thing,” Dorian cooed, leaning towards him in concern. 

Cullen froze as he felt a hand slide across his knee. Dorian's fingers traced the leather above his greaves. He couldn’t move his leg without alerting Bull; their feet were tangled together. 

Miranda didn’t seem to notice; she was stacking their empty plates, readying to take them to be cleaned. Thank Andraste for small blessings.

Cullen stole a glance at Bull. It was clear, to him at least, that the Qunari knew exactly what was happening. His smile was gentle and warm and far too innocent; he tilted his horns. “Aww, did I do that?”

“You did,” Dorian glared. “Look, he’s all pink.”

Intellectually, Cullen knew he had to stop staring at Bull. Any second, someone would notice the way he was trapped in the Qunari’s gaze. But all Cullen could think about was the moment back in Kirkwall: Bull’s finger, tracing down his cheek.  _ I like pink.  _

“By the Maker, Dorian, let the poor man breathe,” Miranda huffed, looking up from what she was doing. “We’re going for a drink,” she said to Bull and Cullen. “Care to join?”

“Love to,” Bull said at once.

“Er,” Cullen hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he could stand any more flirting. Did Bull  _ want _ Dorian to flirt with him? Perhaps Bull didn’t want Cullen too close? Or thought he was becoming too attached? There were a multitude of possibilities, and his brain latched onto all of the negativity it could reach. “Perhaps... some other time,” Cullen said weakly.

He rose with the others, following them out of the makeshift dining hall. It was silly of him to spend this much effort worrying about the situation with Bull. He glanced up at the Breach, reminding himself that there were bigger matters at stake. Not to mention the fact that he most likely had very little time left. It had been months since he'd given up lyrium. Surely the withdrawal would soon begin eating away his mind. Selfish, really, to expend so much energy on something as pointless as -

Cullen stumbled into Bull’s back, not paying attention to where he was going. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Bull glanced back at him. His expression didn’t shift; he just nodded in acknowledgement. Cullen split off from the others when they reached the Chantry, wishing them a good night with a wave. Dorian and Bull were already picking at each other, Miranda between them, laughing.

Though being left alone was a relief, it carried a faint sting of disappointment. Cullen had half expected Bull to make up some excuse to come with him. But apparently needling Dorian and drinking ale with friends was more enjoyable than spending time with a tired, ill sometime lover.

_ Imagine that, Rutherford. You had your fun for the night. Don't push it.  _

His room was still somewhat warm, and definitely smelled of sex. The scent pierced through the haze of fatigue. He laughed sheepishly at himself. Even the thought of getting off twice in such a short time would have been difficult to imagine before meeting Bull. 

Now, however, just the smell of the Qunari had Cullen's cock twitching. “Down boy,” he muttered to himself.

He put the kettle by the fire, building up the flames to prepare his tea. Cullen busied himself with polishing his boots and changing into his long sleep tunic. The water wasn't yet warm, so he knelt in front of the fire, intending to pray.

The Chant did not come easily to his mind. Not with the smell of Bull surrounding him, with his own member half-hard already. And especially not now that kneeling carried the promise of subservience to a will other than the Maker’s. 

After a moment he gave up, pulling the tunic over his head. He scraped his nails up the inside of his thighs, hard as he dared. 

Maker, it felt good. Satisfying in a deep, inscrutable way. One hand gripped his cock, not stroking, just holding himself steady against his stomach. The other hand he smoothed over the swell of his ass. For a long minute, he did nothing but that, stilling his breath, waiting for the anticipation to build until he couldn’t stand it any longer. It was a little game he played; usually by the time he was desperate enough to spank himself, he would push to see just how much longer he could stand to wait.

Today it was not long at all. Bull's talk of spanking earlier had brought the need to the forefront. Cullen smacked himself, hard enough to sting. And again. And again.

The skin was hot under his fingertips. He soothed himself, gentle slides of a dry palm. Then he scraped his nails, drawing welts over the already sensitive skin.

The satisfied hiss of his inhale was interrupted by a knock. Cullen froze, holding his breath.

His eyes wide with panic, Cullen frantically tried to decide what to do. It was probably a runner with a late dispatch. Couldn't be an emergency, the bells weren't ringing. The thing to do was to answer, ask for a moment. Perhaps his rigid, already leaking cock would manage to soften in the time it took to get dressed.

“Cullen, it's me, Bull.” As if Cullen wouldn't recognize that voice anywhere.

Knowing it was Bull did nothing to ease his indecision. Maker, why had the man come back?

“I know you're in there. Can I come in?” Bull didn't sound put out. 

“Er, yes,” Cullen called out, scrambling to retrieve his tunic. “Just let me -”

Too late. Bull began to open the door as soon as Cullen replied. 

The Qunari only froze for an instant before coming inside and closing the door behind him. His eyebrows were raised in surprise.

Cullen was still kneeling, twisted around with the tunic tangled around his shoulders. 

Bull tilted his head, pointedly looking at Cullen's ass. Cullen winced, realizing that his skin was probably quite rosy. He hurriedly yanked the tunic down.

Bull pulled the wooden chair over, spinning it so that he could straddle the back. He rested his forearms on the wood. “Looks like I'm interrupting. Funny, I seem to remember saying something about  _ me _ being the one to do that.”

Cullen went cold. Had he made a mistake? “I'm sorry, I - I thought -”  The kettle began to boil over, ripping his attention to the fire. Grabbing the tongs, he maneuvered the hot water away from the flames, setting it on the narrow hearth. Cullen took extra care to situate the water, dragging it out, trying to buy himself some time. Surely, he’d ruined things this time. 

“Hey. Cullen.” 

Cullen's head snapped up.

Bull shifted, rising and moving the chair to sit facing the side. “Come here,” he said, patting his knee.

It was laughably avuncular. Still, Cullen was very conscious of how many mistakes he’d made. He approached, but the question remained of what, exactly, Bull had meant by the gesture. Was Cullen to sit? To present himself for a spanking, like a child? 

Bull merely watched him, giving no indication of what he wanted. So Cullen sat, hands folded in his lap, which felt utterly ridiculous.

“Very good,” Bull said, rubbing his back. “Just relax. You’re doing absolutely fine. We still gotta talk about a bunch of stuff. It’s why I came back. But we can’t do it once you’re all worked up.” He ran a hand up and down Cullen's spine. 

When Bull didn’t say anything more, Cullen cast about. “Uhm. So...” He hesitated. For all of Bull’s encouragement and approval, Cullen still felt like a freshly-hatched chick. 

“Hey. Hey, it’s all right, pretty one. You worried you’re gonna disappoint me?” 

Cullen's laugh sounded sharp in the small room. “Is it that obvious?”

Bull slid his hand up the inside of the tunic, tickling down Cullen's skin. “Only to me.”

There didn’t seem to be much to say to that, so Cullen simply nodded. 

“Listen. We’ll talk later. Tell me what you want for tonight.” He continued to rub Cullen's back.

“I’d like to not feel like a bumbling virgin, for starters,” Cullen confessed.

Bull laughed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll give you that. You want me to leave?”

“No,” Cullen said, entirely too fast.

“All right. See, there’s a start. How about this: what were you gonna do if I hadn’t showed up?”

Cheeks burning, Cullen couldn’t meet Bull’s eye. “I would think it was pretty clear.”

Bull flexed his fingers, so that what had been a caress became a scrape of fingernails. “Maybe I want to hear you say it.”

Cullen cleared his throat, shifting his weight as he sat on Bull’s lap. “I was going to... continue. Uhm. Spanking. Myself.” The last few words were pretty much all breath. 

Bull scratched down his spine again. “Yeah? You think you might be able to show me?”

Cullen inhaled sharply. Maker, the thought was intoxicating. Could he actually do it? It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. Why was he hesitating? This was literally exactly what he wanted, the thing he’d been fantasizing about for years, but faced with the prospect of following through.... 

“Cullen. I can’t tell if you’re just shy, or if I’m pressuring you too much.” Bull’s voice cut into his internal struggle.

Eyes falling closed, Cullen winced. Maker, what was wrong with him? It shouldn’t be this difficult, surely. “I’m sorry. I’m trying not to be so shy. I really am. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey. Shhh. No apologizing. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know. I can work with shy. If that's what you want.” Bull took his free hand and swabbed a thumb along Cullen's chin. 

“I don’t understand why it’s so hard.” Cullen figured he couldn’t humiliate himself any further; might as well get it all out there.

“Just because you want something doesn’t mean it’s easy,” Bull reasoned. He left off scratching Cullen's back and ran his fingers through his hair, instead. “Some people need a fair amount of training.”

The word  _ training _ jolted through Cullen. The muscles along the backs of his thighs and ass tensed as he inhaled.

“You like that idea?” Bull continued to pet him. 

Cullen had never considered such a thing. He’d always assumed that one merely submitted, and what was submission but the following of orders? Cullen was good at following orders. Too good, in fact; how many suffered because he had obeyed Meredith?  _ No. Don’t think of that.  _ He deflected the question with one of his own. “What’s... involved in that, exactly?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. I teach you to submit. How to kneel, to obey. I think that's what you want. You want me to show you, take away all the questions screaming through your head, take away all the decisions, until there’s nothing left. Nothing left to worry about at all.”

Bull’s voice wrapped around him like a rich fur. It was as if the Qunari was looking inside him, pulling strands of need from depths Cullen didn’t know he even had, weaving them together into words that intoxicated.

“That what you really want, pretty one?” 

Cullen suddenly felt boneless. Nodding, he turned to face Bull. The Qunari was closer than Cullen anticipated; Cullen didn’t even think, he just leaned in. At the last second he stopped, his lips less than an inch from Bull’s. He’d already made too many mistakes. Frozen, his eyes flicked up to Bull, biting his lip against his own need.

The Qunari hadn’t moved. “Damn, you are so fucking precious.” He closed the rest of the distance. Unlike Cullen, Bull did not hesitate. 

This kind of kissing was still a new experience for Cullen. It was a revelation, the way Bull’s lips captured his own, the way the Qunari’s tongue slid against his, the nips of Bull’s teeth. Cullen reached one hand up to Bull’s shoulder to steady himself. The surge of muscle under his palm made him groan, and he slid his hand up to the crook of Bull’s neck, running his thumb over the lobe of Bull’s ear. 

Bull grunted in satisfaction, a breathy, needy sound. It brought Cullen's attention back to the present. He wondered if they would keep doing this, once they finally had the chat Bull had been promising. It didn’t seem likely. The thought saddened him.

Cullen felt Bull pulling away to break the kiss. “You all right?” 

“Yes, fine,” Cullen said quickly, trying to keep his voice light.

“Cullen.” His name was a warning. “This won’t work if you lie to me.”

Cullen deflated a little. Maker, but he was pathetic. “I just... will we still... do... this?”

Bull blinked. “Do you want to?”

“Yes, oh, Maker, yes, I do,” Cullen babbled. “I just wasn’t sure if... you know.”

Bull smiled, running a finger over Cullen's lip and down his chin. “What did you think would happen? That I’d keep you collared in a closet and visit once a day to fuck you?”

“Er, well... maybe?” Cullen admitted. “Not the closet part. I do have a job, you know.”

The sound of Bull’s laugh was both incredibly embarrassing and utterly reassuring. “Cullen. I don’t know what shitty smut you’ve been reading, but that's not how it works for most people. We can do... whatever, really. That's why we gotta have a chat. Set up some limits that we’re both comfortable with. I sure as shit don’t wanna stop kissing you, unless that's something  _ you _ want.”

Cullen felt the release of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding.  _ Of course it’s not like in the stories, you moron. _ He nodded, trying not to let the relief show too much. “I... that makes sense.”

“Who writes these books, anyway?” Bull grinned.

Cullen shrugged. “Bored mages, I presume.”

“Are they any good?”

Cullen grimaced. “Well... er... rather florid. Lots of steely glances and weeping members and thrusting.”

“And spanking.” Bull winked.

“Ah, yes, rather a lot of that,” Cullen laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Bull was still smiling, but it was a hungry sort of look. “Damn, pretty boy. You have no idea how bad I want to do that right now.” He brought his fingers back up to Cullen's lips, pressing gently. “Not gonna lie. I’ve been thinking about it since Kirkwall,” Bull growled.

Cullen opened his mouth, letting Bull slide two fingers along his tongue once, keeping the presence of mind to suckle as Bull pulled his hand away. His erection was making a valiant effort to reassert itself, twitching under the linen of his tunic.

Cullen was quite sure he shouldn’t ask to be spanked. Bull had made it clear that he wanted to talk first. Instead, Cullen heard himself whine, trying to hold back the pleas that were threatening to spill out. He let his eyes fall shut, concentrating on keeping his breathing as normal as possible. 

“You all right, pretty one?” Bull murmured.

He shivered.  _ Don’t mess this up, Rutherford.  _ “I’m trying not to... you said you wanted to talk first.”

“Yeah, I did say that, didn’t I?” There was a tinge of regret in Bull’s voice. “How about I just fuck you into the mattress, instead?”

Cullen burst out with a jag of breathless, relieved laughter. “Maker,  _ yes.”  _

Bull pushed Cullen from his lap towards the bed. Cullen was already pulling the tunic off, stumbling to lay face down. He heard the latch click as Bull locked the door. Cullen reared up to his knees, holding his weight on his forearms, his face planted into the pillow.

“Holy fuck, pretty one. You really want it.” Had it not been for the reverence in Bull’s voice, Cullen would’ve felt ashamed of his eagerness. Instead, the tone soothed him, made him feel bold. Cullen slid one hand to his ass, kneading the muscles hard. 

Cullen heard the sound of leather and fabric hitting the ground, and then felt Bull’s weight kneeling behind him on the bed. “Fuck, I can’t wait. Show me. Show me how you spank yourself. I gotta see that ass all pink, my sweet one.”

Moaning, Cullen smoothed his palm over the skin, smacking as hard as he could. The angle was poor; he had no leverage. Still, it stung. Not enough to satisfy, not nearly enough for that, but knowing he had an audience provided another layer of fulfillment. He scraped his fingernails, then spanked himself again.

Soon enough his skin had the hot, crackling sensation. “Damn, that's gorgeous. Enough, pretty one. I have to get a taste.” Bull leaned down and traced the reddened skin with his tongue.

Cullen's moan of satisfaction turned to a squeal of pleasure as he felt an oiled finger press into him at the same time. It was so much better than he remembered. He could do little but groan shamelessly into his pillow as Bull worked him open.

The weight on the bed shifted; Cullen felt the heat of Bull’s chest against his back. “You ready?” Bull growled into his neck.

“Yes, please. Please. Fuck me.”

Bull bit gently at the bruise on the nape of his neck as he guided the tip of his cock into Cullen. The combination of sensations was overwhelming. Cullen was sure the scream he directed into his pillow could be heard in the corridor outside, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

All that mattered was the feeling of Bull, his weight and heat surrounding him and stretching him, everywhere all at once, moving and shifting.

And then Bull set a rhythm. Slow. Slow, and relentless. Cullen collapsed into the bed, feeling his cock scrape against the cotton of his sheets, now slick with pre-come. He was groaning in time with Bull’s grunts, desperate for more but just as desperate for it never to end. Until Bull shifted his weight, leaning just so, and his cock pressed into Cullen's prostate. 

“Fuck!” Cullen yelped into his pillow. He tried to buck backwards, to move, had to be satisfied with grinding into the mattress as Bull pulled away for each thrust.

“You want more, pretty one? I can give you more, if that's what you want.”

“Yes, more, more, please. Please, more,” Cullen whimpered.

“Faster? Harder? Tell me what you want, pretty baby.” Bull’s voice was ragged, edged with need.

“I... ungh. I want you to fuck me, Bull. Just....” Cullen didn’t know how to put it. 

“You want me to take you the way I want? I’ll use you up, precious, pound you till there’s nothing left.” There was a warning in the words, or a promise.

“Please, Bull. Yes. Please.” Cullen begged. Maker, he was so close.

Bull leaned up further, put a hand on Cullen's back, and  _ fucked _ him.

It was too fast, too hard, too everything. The sound of their skin smacking together was an echo of Cullen's hand earlier. It shouldn’t have been possible. His orgasm seemed to build and build and build, and then he was tipping over, grinding into the mattress at the same pace as Bull’s thrusts, spurting wave after wave of release.

Bull grunted. His thrusts slowed, deepened, until he shuddered, emptying himself into Cullen, growling in Qunlat. 

Cullen was still shivering with aftershocks when Bull pulled out and away. The Qunari’s breathing was ragged as he recovered, kneeling between Cullen's thighs. 

Slowly, Cullen began to shift, dragging his weight up so that he could turn over. He hissed as he felt Bull’s spend dripping out; it was unexpected, leaving him feeling exposed but somehow gratified. 

He twisted around to look at Bull. The Qunari was still breathing heavy, wiping his face with his hand. He caught Cullen's eye and began to chuckle weakly. 

Cullen started laughing too, not even knowing why, really. Bull fell on top of him, growling in amused satisfaction, his hands on either side of Cullen's head. “Damn, pretty one.” He leaned down, kissing and nuzzling at Cullen playfully.

Laughing, Cullen squirmed under him. The squirming died out once Bull started kissing him in earnest. If only he could lay like that forever; as time went on, however, the need to clean up became more pressing.

Eventually Bull relented, sighing with satisfaction. “Better let you get some rest.”

Cullen nodded. “Shame this cot isn’t larger.” He turned his head to examine the tiny bed. When he looked back up, Bull had an inscrutable expression. Disbelief, confusion, amusement, longing, or a combination of all, it wasn’t clear. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Bull said. 

The blood began to freeze in Cullen's veins. “Is something wrong?”

“Nah,” Bull said, his easy smile making a reappearance. “I’ll see you around, pretty boy.”

"See you around, Bull."


	10. Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the attack at Haven, Cullen succumbs to lyrium withdrawal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the updated tags!

It had been a long time since Cullen was motivated by anything but duty. He was devoted to the Inquisition, and to the Herald specifically; for once that loyalty felt utterly justified, with no reservations. Still, dedication to a cause couldn’t hold a candle to the magnetism of pure lust.

The problem was _ time.  _ Bull had insisted that they needed a long discussion first. Cullen was slowly coming to understand the need for this talk. But with Lady Trevelyan readying to seal the breach, there was no chance for such a discussion, much less following through.

Cullen had been there, of course, when she actually sealed the Breach. Solas somehow enabled the mages to channel their power into the Herald. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought she had fallen, when she collapsed under the power of the mark. But then Cassandra stumbled through the haze, pulled Miranda up. Limp, but not boneless. She lived. The Herald emerged victorious. 

The elation of victory spread quickly to Haven. Spontaneous pockets of dancing and singing erupted from every corner, and everyone seemed to have a drink in hand. Cullen stood on the upper wall in front of the Chantry, taking it all in. It was pleasant just to be surrounded by the merrymaking, building anticipation for when he eventually joined in.

For the moment, though, he just enjoyed the stillness of the evening, breathing deep as he looked over the mountains. They’d done it. Granted, there was still a colossal mess to clean up with the mages and templars, but now that the Breach was closed, the rest would surely fall into place. He’d fulfilled his obligation to Seeker Cassandra; the time he had left was something of a bonus. He hadn’t actually expected to make it this far. Indeed, until recently Cullen had harbored a vague idea of wandering off to the sunset, perhaps finding a remote cabin somewhere where he could rave without harming anyone. 

But now he had something to look forward to. Perhaps he could stay just a  _ little _ bit longer. At least until he and Bull... Cullen didn’t allow himself to go too deeply down that line of thought. The anticipation was satisfying in and of itself; no point in ruining it with false hopes. 

A pinprick of light on the horizon caught his attention. Several pinpricks. A dozen. Fifty. A hundred. 

The bells began to ring, the alarm sounding throughout the hamlet. Haven was under attack. 

***

Three days. That's how long it took for Cullen to fall apart. After the attack on Haven, and the subsequent search for the Herald, it took three days of constant stress, three frigid sleepless nights, and Cullen simply disintegrated. Without the rigid routines of work to provide structure,  without the tools at hand to cope -- tea or prayer or sex or  _ Maker  _ even just warmth -- the withdrawal overtook him astoundingly fast.

It seemed to envelop him, swallow him. At first he didn’t realize that there was something more than simple fatigue at work. He’d trained to endure lack of sleep, was well aware of how it felt, that liminal state where one is moving about but not quite conscious. And of course he was shivering constantly; they were in the midst of the Frostbacks. Cullen had grown so accustomed to ignoring the siren call of lyrium craving that he failed to notice the intensity ratcheting up, masked by the fatigue and chill. 

That, or perhaps the lyrium had a will of its own, like a demon, waiting to pounce until Cullen was too weak to resist. Regardless, he fell into a near-constant daze, nerves frayed to crackling raw edges. The craving was a constant thrum, a vibration he could hear and feel. 

He was in the command tent, with no idea how he’d gotten there. It was dark out; Cullen had a vague memory of trudging through the mountains, shivering and snowblind, but perhaps it was a dream. But it couldn’t have been; he hadn’t slept in... he wasn’t sure. Cassandra was asking him a question, frowning at the map on the table. Cullen turned to her, glassy-eyed. “What?”

She began to repeat the question. “Commander, how should we -” The rest was cut off as she looked up at him. “You are unwell.”

Cullen closed his eyes, wincing, trying to maintain control. But there was nothing. Nothing to draw from, no reserves of strength or willpower. He was past the point of no return, surely. “I can hear it -  _ feel _ it - all the time now. It’s like an itch, prickling in my blood.”

Cassandra regarded him. “You require rest.”

“I need more than  _ rest,” _ he hissed, clutching at the back of his neck. As quickly as his anger had flared, it died away, replaced by near-hysterical desperation. There had been so little holding him together; it burst like a bubble under the Seeker’s scrutiny. “I can’t. I  _ can’t,  _ Seeker.”

Her face remained impassive. She strode to the tent, peeking outside for a moment, before tying the flap shut. “You  _ must. _ You have no choice, Commander.”

“You don’t _ understand.” _ He hardly recognized his own voice -- had it always been this weak and reedy? “Cassandra. Please. You need to end this for me, now, while I’m still myself. You  _ promised. _ I can’t endure it.” He leaned over the table; the wood was all that was keeping him upright.

Pity softened the hard lines of the Seeker’s face. “You can, Cullen. And you will.”

“No. No, no, no,” Cullen whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling it taut. The tiny shock of pain gave him a moment’s clarity, allowed his body to focus on something other than the thrum of lyrium. 

“Commander, I must insist you go to your tent and take a sleeping draught.” 

Cullen barely heard her. The second of clarity had allowed his mind to latch on to a new idea: Bull. Bull would help him. Bull would end this. The Qunari wouldn’t even need a weapon. He could snap Cullen's neck like a twig. It was so simple. Cullen stumbled out, yanking the tent flaps open. 

Cassandra chased after him, but Cullen ignored her. His feet managed a jog towards the Charger’s tents. He could see Bull sitting across the shared fire, laughing with his men. 

Then the smile slid off Bull’s face, shifting to a frown as Cullen approached. The expression gave Cullen pause, and he stumbled to a halt, swaying slightly, panting plumes of vapor. Cassandra caught up to him, pulling on his elbow. He heard her voice and looked at her, but was unable to make sense of the words. 

Bull was rising, striding over to them. Cullen blinked, dully, looking up at him, aware that he needed to be saying words, but he could not call them to his lips. 

Bull looked at Cullen closely, then nodded. He spoke to Cassandra. “I got this, Seeker. It’s all right. I’ll take care of him.”

Cassandra scowled. “He needs rest.”

“Like I said, Seeker, I got this.” Bull put a hand on Cullen's shoulder. “Cullen. Hey. We’re going to your tent now, okay?”

Cullen nodded, relieved. Bull was helping him, thank the Maker. Bull understood. It would all be over soon. 

Bull leaned over and murmured a few words to the Seeker. She nodded, worry lining her face, and then trotted off.

“Hey. Cullen. You with me?” Bull looked down at him. “Can you walk to your tent?”

Cullen made an affirmative noise. The relief was giving way to fatigue. He put one foot in front of the other, Bull walking next to him, guiding his steps with brief touches to his back or shoulders.

There was no one around the cluster of tents. Perhaps it was meal time? Cullen didn’t care. It was better this way. Fewer people to see him, try to talk him out of it, make him better, heal him. But there was nothing to heal. There was no recovering from this. Nothing had ever been clearer; Cullen's time was up. Every molecule was given over to the craving. 

No - wait. There was someone hanging about. The Tevinter. He was loitering outside Cullen's tent. He raised an eyebrow at Cullen. “You really  _ are  _ ill, my good man. Stay away, I don’t want to catch your dirty Southern illness.” Dorian looked up at Bull, cocking a head at the tent. “It will only last a few hours.”

“Long enough. Thanks, ‘Vint.” Bull said, nodding. 

Dorian waved. “Think nothing of it. By which I mean, you owe me one, Bull.” With that he sauntered away.

Bull held up the flap of the tent and Cullen crawled inside, too dazed to care what the exchange had been about. The wave of warmth that hit him provided an answer, anyway. The mage had heated the air in the tent, though why he’d done such a thing was a mystery.

Cullen knelt, the shivers wracking through him having lost the camouflage the cold provided. The song. It was so loud now, his blood was screaming, he ached with it, an itch so deep that it had transformed into pain. What would they tell his siblings? That he died at Haven? Leliana would take care of it. 

Bull was kneeling in front of Cullen. “Hey, you in there? Tell me what you need, Cullen.” Bull was pulling the buckles of his cuirass free.

“Please.” Cullen shut his eyes. “End it. The itch. The song. She wouldn’t... I can’t... please just make it stop.” His voice was a high-pitched whine, nasal and weak.

The motion of Bull’s fingers stilled for an instant, but then resumed. Cullen's armor fell away. He expected to feel Bull’s hands around his neck. 

Instead he was consumed by Bull’s embrace. The lyrium craving was everywhere inside him, but outside there was nothing but Bull. Cullen's fever-hot skin tried to cringe away from the contact, but he couldn’t. Huge fingers carded into his hair and pulled. 

Cullen hissed. The sensation stabbed into him. Everything snapped into focus, but the sharp sting didn’t lessen the deep aching itch. It wasn’t enough. If anything, it gave the panic a foothold, ripping through the smothering fatigue just enough to highlight how unbearable the withdrawal was. 

But there was something else, hidden between the layers of pain: Bull’s voice, murmuring into Cullen's hair. It rumbled deep in the Qunari’s chest, a counterpoint to the buzzing in Cullen's veins. Cullen couldn’t identify individual words at first, but eventually he was able to discern meaning from the sound. “Oh, my beautiful one, my precious one. Let me take care of you.”

Cullen squirmed, trying to push Bull away. _ He’s not going to help you. Not the way you want.  _ But he couldn’t get loose. Bull just gripped him tighter. 

“Please,” Cullen sobbed into Bull’s shoulder. “I can’t. I can’t. It’s everywhere. I can’t get away.”

“Two minutes, pretty one. Can you give me two more minutes? Let me help you for just two minutes. For me.” 

After seeming on the edge of drowning for so long, Cullen found himself nodding. For Bull, he could stand two more minutes.

Bull slowly began to let go, guiding Cullen to lay facedown on the bedroll, pulling off his tunic. “Cullen. I’m going to give you something to focus on, okay? Something to replace the itch. I know you can handle it, precious one. Two minutes. You with me for two minutes?”

Cullen jerked his head in an approximation of a nod. His whole body was tense, the shivers having locked up into a single mass of tension. His teeth hurt from clenching his jaw. He had no idea what Bull was about to do. There was nothing that would help. Nothing but lyrium, and that was not an option.

“Put this in your mouth, pretty one. That's it.” Bull pushed a wad of fabric into his mouth. It dawned on Cullen that he was being gagged. Which meant Bull expected he might scream. Which meant pain. 

For an instant, Cullen felt a flare of... not hope. Not exactly. He had no question that this would merely prolong the inevitable. But if this was the proof that Bull needed that he could not be helped, then Cullen would gladly pay the price. It was only two minutes, after all. 

“You want my hand, pretty one?” Bull’s voice was beyond gentle. “Or your belt?”

“Belt,” Cullen croaked around the gag. Better to have some distance between them, here at the end. 

Cullen heard the smack of the leather across his shoulders before the sensation registered. When it did, his nerves fairly sang, his brain buzzing to categorize the burning stripe across his flesh, eager to have a tangible physical sensation to latch on to. The next strike landed only a few seconds later, just below the first. Cullen's eyes flew open and he moaned, the sound muffled by the fabric. It hurt. Oh, it  _ hurt.  _ Better than the best times he’d spanked himself. Each strike began with a sting and mellowed to a burning ache. 

Bull laced him with the belt, from the top of his shoulders to his waistband, neatly overlapping stripes. Cullen was yelping around the gag by the end, tears starting from his eyes. With his body focused on the pain, there was no room for the lyrium, not anymore. 

A hand on his upper arm got Cullen’s attention. He blinked his eyes open, sucking air through his nose. 

“Are you with me, pretty one?” Bull stroked a finger down Cullen's cheek, then tugged the gag loose. 

Cullen still felt hazy, but no longer in freefall. The fugue state had snapped; he was still deeply uncomfortable, and exhausted beyond comprehension, but he no longer teetered at the brink of losing himself. He nodded, panting slightly. “How did you know?” Each word was an effort. The need for sleep swept in on the heels of the fading pain.

Bull stroked his hair. “Learned a lot in Seheron. And after.” He didn’t elaborate. “You need another round, or are you good?” 

“Tired,” Cullen murmured.

“You need a sleep potion?”

Cullen shook his head once, his eyes already closed. He felt Bull begin to push himself up. Cullen blindly groped until his hand captured an ankle. “Please. Please don’t.” 

He heard Bull swallow, then breathe in and out once. “Yeah. Okay.”

Cullen sensed Bull shifting around, removing clothing and boots. Then the lantern was extinguished, and Bull laid down beside him, arranging blankets over them both. Despite his exhaustion, Cullen managed to slide himself to half-lay on Bull’s chest. Bull slid an arm around him, not touching his still-sore back, just enough contact to feel cradled, secure. 

Waking was not easy. Cullen dreamed he was awake a half-dozen times before it finally became the truth. He was alone; Bull must’ve left at some point. Cullen lay for a moment, gathering his bearings.

The tent flap opened, streaming light into Cullen's face. “You’re up,” Bull noted. “How you feel?”

“Like I’ve been beaten by a Qunari,” he groaned. His throat was raw. After a second he jerked upright. Or tried to, at any rate. He only managed to get halfway to sitting before pain spasmed through him.

“Whoa, whoa, pretty boy. What’re you doing?” Bull spun around to catch him.

“The others - they must’ve heard - oh Maker,” Cullen clenched his eyes shut. 

“It’s all right. I had Pavus soundproof the tent. Simple enough spell, though it wears off. Told Cassandra you needed quiet in order to sleep. No one heard me in here with you, and I snuck out early enough. No one saw me.” Bull said.

“I don’t care if they heard  _ you, _ Bull, I care that they heard what you were  _ doing,” _ Cullen sighed. He rubbed the grit from his eyes. 

Bull was looking at him, his eyebrow raised in confusion. “You don’t.... it wouldn’t bother you, having them know I spent the night?” 

“Why should it?” Cullen grunted, succeeding in sitting up. “I’m as red-blooded as the next man.” He left the suffix  _ thanks to you _ unspoken. “I imagine I’m rather lost in the crowd, anyway.” Cullen managed a half-hearted chuckle. He’d rather assiduously avoided thinking about just how promiscuous Bull actually was; he’d seen the glances Bull got from others, and the way Bull returned those looks. Having been the beneficiary of Bull’s casual approach to sex in Kirkwall, Cullen knew it wasn’t his place to ask for anything. 

Bull still looked confused, but he shook his horns. “You need a hell of a lot more sleep, but we’re on the move in an hour. Solas says we’ve got two days to this mystery fortress. Tell me what you’re gonna do to make sure you don’t lose it again.” 

The words were not a request, but an order. Cullen swallowed against the rawness in his throat. “I didn’t realize what was happening. I’ll be fine, now.”

With a grunt, Bull scowled. “Nope. Not good enough, pretty boy. What are you going to  _ do?”  _

Cullen fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ll just book myself a spa day, shall I? Hot bath followed by a massage?”

This time, Bull growled and snatched at him. For a heartbeat Cullen thought Bull was going to throttle him, but the hand which shot towards him instead cradled his neck, just below one ear. Bull’s face was close enough that Cullen could feel his breath.

“Cullen. I didn’t save your life for you to throw it away again. What. Are. You going. To do?” The words were low and sinister, but the thumb which slid across Cullen's jaw was gentle. 

“I’m sorry,” Cullen apologized automatically.

Bull acknowledged this with a slight nod, then waited.

“I’ll take a sleeping draught. Tonight.”

“And?”

“And... I don’t know, Bull, what else can I do? I’m needed. I can’t just walk away because I’m weak.”

The shake of Bull’s horns was barely noticeable. “You’re not  _ weak,” _ he insisted. “And even you can take a break at mid-day.”

“I...” Cullen faltered. He most certainly could  _ not _ abandon his duties in the middle of the day. Unless... “I can join the noon Chant.”

Bull didn’t look convinced. “That help you? Praying?”

“I usually pray before bed, yes. It... calms the mind.” Cullen wasn’t normally so open about his devotions. His faith was a deeply private affair; exposing it to scrutiny risked tarnishing it with the Qunari’s sarcasm or skepticism.

But Bull nodded, satisfied. “Okay. Okay. I’ll be watching you, though.” 

Cullen shivered at the thought, and Bull’s lips curled into a smile. “If it helps, you can distract yourself knowing I’m imagining how good you’re gonna feel under me once we get to a proper bedroom.”

Cullen laughed, a bit breathless. “That... is an excellent distraction.”

Bull hadn’t let him go. “One last thing. You eat with the Chargers and me tonight.” 

Cullen didn’t quite know what to say to that. “All right,” he conceded doubtfully.

“Good. Very good, pretty one.” Bull’s thumb resumed its slow slide across the stubble on Cullen's jaw. He leaned forward slightly.

The strangest thing about the kiss was not the desperation, or the hunger; Cullen was well acquainted with the Bull’s appetite in that regard. No, it was feeling the way Bull’s lips quivered, the uncertainty of his breath, as if he were frightened. But surely such a thing was not possible. Was it?


	11. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen accepts Bull's invitation to eat with the Chargers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the update tags! Mentions of disordered eating in this chapter.

Cullen wasn’t sure what to expect from Bull’s odd dinner invitation, but neither was he about to turn it down. It seemed strange that the Qunari was so insistent that Cullen eat his meager rations with the mercenaries. Perhaps Bull needed Cullen to show interest in their well-being, offer reassurance after the attack at Haven. 

When camp was settled for the evening and watch posted, Cullen dutifully made his way to the Chargers’ bonfire. 

“Commander!” Krem beckoned. “You feeling better? Chief said you ate a bad nug or something like that.”

“Something like that,” Cullen laughed. “I apologize for not checking on you sooner - did you....” He left it hanging.

“Yeah, we all made it.” Krem nodded, looking over the campsite. “We’re tough.”

“Oooh, it’s Commander Curly.” The blond elf Dalish emerged from a tent, squinting at Cullen. “You come to check on us?” She tried to surreptitiously slide the staff in her hand back into her tent.

“I came to join you for dinner, actually. And you don’t have to hide your staff. I’m off the clock.”

“It’s a bow,” Dalish muttered, frowning defensively.

Krem snorted. “Don’t be daft, Dalish. I’m sure the Commander here has bigger problems than your old elven hunting trick. That starts fire. By pointing your  _ bow.”  _

Cullen took that as his cue, obediently turning around to look back at the mountains, pretending to admire the sunset. A few seconds later there was a resounding  _ whoosh _ as the meager pile of wood caught fire.

“Wait, did you say you’re... eating with us?” Krem sounded skeptical.

Turning around, Cullen shrugged. “Bull was quite insistent. And I never turn down the hospitality of the Qun.” 

The other elf, the dark-haired one, looked up from where she was sharpening a dagger, cocking an eyebrow at Krem. “The Chief... asked you? To  _ dinner?”  _ She and Krem exchanged a baffled look.

“Uhh... yes? I brought my own rations, have no fear.” Cullen held up the packet of hardtack. 

“No, it’s not that, it’s just...” Krem shook his head to clear it and grinned. “We’d be glad to share our campfire with you, Commander.” 

“Is Bull not here?” Cullen looked around in confusion. The sunset was rapidly dwindling; the shadow of the mountains crept over the camp.

“He’s out with Stitches,” the dark-haired elf said. Skinner, Cullen finally remembered. “Since you’re here, you can help us get the spits ready.” There was a challenge in her tone. 

“Fair enough,” Cullen said. Better to make himself useful than to waste time in idle chit-chat, anyway.

The broth in the cooking pots had just begun to bubble when Bull returned. His trousers were covered in snow almost to his belt and he had a cloth sack over his shoulder. “Commander! You made it!” Bull sounded for all the world like he was pleasantly surprised to see Cullen, giving no hint that he’d all but bullied the Commander into a dinner invitation.  

“I did,” Cullen said, keeping his voice polite. If Bull wanted to pretend, Cullen would indulge. 

Bull came over and shook his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, thank you.” 

“Good, good. Helluva thing, food poisoning. Thought you were gonna puke up a lung.” Bull lied easily. Before Cullen could respond, he pulled Cullen towards one of the tents. “Come on, you can help me with this.”

Dalish snorted. Bull frowned and kicked snow at her. As she was kneeling beside the fire, stirring one of the pots, she got a fair amount in her face. 

Bull tugged Cullen into the tent. Quickly, he put his thumbs on Cullen's cheeks, pulling the skin down slightly and peering into Cullen's eyes. He then grabbed Cullen's wrist and took his pulse.

“Bull, what’re you -”

“Hush, pretty boy,” Bull growled. A moment later, he nodded in reluctant satisfaction. “Good. Come on, we can’t stay in here long.” He put a fabric-wrapped bundle in Cullen's hands, pulled him in for a kiss as scorching as it was brief, then shoved him back outside.

Cullen stumbled a bit in confusion. Bull clapped him on the shoulder and dragged him over to the fire.

There were about a dozen mercenaries gathered around. Cullen recognized all of them by sight, at least. Bull proudly introduced them all, including the Chargers Cullen had already met. 

“Chieeeef, we knooooooow.” Dalish whined. “He’s been here for almost an hour, not to mention meeting him before.”

“What do you mean, ‘before’?” Bull frowned, lowering himself to sit on a blanket.

“Commander Pretty-Pretty came to welcome us, back in Haven,” Skinner said, helping herself to a bowl of watery gruel.

“What - you - what?” Bull looked between Cullen and Skinner in confusion.

Cullen knew he was blushing. “Pretty-pretty” was too close to Bull’s pet name, though surely it was a coincidence. Still, despite the burning of his cheeks, Cullen kept his face neutral. “It  _ is _ my job to make sure the troops are outfitted adequately,” he noted dryly.

“Didn’t you wonder why my poultices suddenly got stronger?” Stitches said. “Been brewing them with Adan. Or, well. I was.” He gnawed a piece of jerky, frowning. Adan had not survived the attack.

Bull was still blinking in astonishment, though he recovered. “Okay then. Well since we’re all old friends, gimme that,” Bull said, pointing with his chin at the parcel he’d given to Cullen.

He unwrapped it, revealing a set of battered camp pans, clamped together. He shoved the makeshift oven into the fire. “There we go. Won’t take long. Dalish sets the best fires.” He winked at the elf.

“Old elven secret,” she winked back. 

Bull pulled a flask from his boot and took a pull, wincing. He handed it to Cullen. 

The Commander tentatively accepted the bottle, very aware that the Chargers were suddenly quite keen to see his reaction. Everyone always wants to see the commanding officer drink the moonshine. Maker’s breath. He steeled himself for something terrible and swigged, miming a larger swallow than he actually took. 

It was far, far worse than he anticipated. He spluttered, his sinuses burning. The Chargers roared with laughter and cheered him with whatever drinks they had handy. 

“Andraste’s ass, Bull, what  _ was _ that?” 

“Maaras-lok,” Bull grinned. 

“It puts chest on your chest,” Krem leaned over, knocking Cullen's shoulder with his own. 

Cullen continued to rub his tongue on the roof of his mouth, trying to kill the aftertaste. “It tastes like... Maker’s breath, Bull, is there  _ gaatlok _ in that?”

“Ha!” Bull laughed, pulling the pans from the fire and turning them over. He busied himself with something in a stoneware bowl, adding some frozen-looking greens to the concoction before grinding it with the pommel of a dagger. “Guess you’d know about it, huh.” 

The Chargers had all tucked into their meals - a thin broth thickened with hardtack. Bull and Cullen were largely ignored.

“I know what it smells like,” Cullen said. “And I know you’re probably not supposed to ingest the stuff.”

“Ah, it’s fine,” Bull said. “Used to drink it all the time in Seheron. Hey, hand me that hardtack, would you?”

Cullen handed over the dry biscuits. “They need to soak,” he said. 

“Nah.” Bull shook his head. He crumbled them into the bowl. 

“Bull, that's my dinner,” Cullen muttered under his breath.

“I know,” Bull said. “I’m fixing it up for you. You gotta be tired of plain hardtack by now.” 

Cullen frowned. “Bull, are you hoarding supplies?”

“Nnnnope,” the Qunari said. “These are scraps. I’m just adding some herbs I found, is all.” 

“Herbs?” Cullen laughed skeptically. “Bull, we’re in the middle of the Frostbacks.”

“I know,” Bull said, pulling the pans from the fire. “They were under the snow.” He cracked open the makeshift oven. Inside were two pieces of bone split down the middle. Though the smell was appetizing, it looked absolutely dreadful, with glistening marrow still bubbling slightly from the heat.

Bull sprinkled the contents of the bowl over the bones, covered the pans again, and shoved them back into the embers. “Won’t be long now.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to eat bones,” Cullen grimaced. 

“Oh, you’ll eat ‘em, all right.” Bull turned and looked at him, really  _ looked _ at him. There was an order in that look, and Cullen found himself blushing.

The moment passed quickly, as Bull yanked the pans out of the fire. The crumbled bits of biscuit and greenery had browned, soaking up some of the grease. It still looked disgusting.

Bull separated the pans, giving them each one piece of bone. “I’d let it cool down a bit,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to ask the Commander to eat bone marrow, much less marrow that Bull had himself cooked.

Cullen was staring at the dish, trying to will the nausea away. Bull, meanwhile, had begun slurping the split bone with gusto. It did nothing to quell Cullen's disgust.

Tentatively, he scooped a bit of the gelatinous mess on to his fingers, and quickly put it in his mouth. A second later, he blinked. It was tasty. Not just tasty -- delicious. Cullen quickly followed Bull’s example, sucking the fatty mixture from the bone.

“No one ever wants the big bones,” Bull noted. “Take too long to break down in soup. But you split ‘em just right, add a little wild parsley or carrot tops, a little salt, and some biscuit, you’re good to go.”

“Maker’s breath, it’s so good. It’s like... butter, or....” Cullen sucked a stray bit from his thumb, then wished he hadn’t, because the glint in Bull’s eye sent a frisson of lust to his cock. 

“Glad you like it. Our tamassrans serve it in the houses of the healing.” Bull said, not looking at him.

Cullen busied himself with rinsing his hands in the snow. Of course. That's why Bull had invited him to eat. To make sure Cullen actually ate. Because Bull didn’t trust him to take care of himself. Bull thought he had to be tricked into it, like a recalcitrant child. 

Cullen wasn’t sure what was worse - that Bull didn’t trust him, or that he was right. Because Cullen hadn’t been planning to eat again that day. Food was scarce. The flight from Haven was chaotic; most of the civilians were too terrorized to grab supplies. Many of the soldiers, luckily, kept their heads enough to snag their packs, all of which contained a few days of emergency rations. Still, there were almost twice as many mouths to feed as rations available. The Inquisition archers did manage to take down several mountain goats, which helped. There was no knowing what lay in wait for them at this mysterious sanctuary, so belts would most certainly be very tight for the foreseeable future.

Cullen had limited himself to one meal in the mornings, not wanting to diminish the food supply any further. Or rather, that had been his intent. The morning after his breakdown, he realized he’d failed to eat at all the day before, no doubt hastening his body’s slide into withdrawal.

Irritation rose in his throat, the kind of irrational pique that explodes, sending shrapnel in every direction. “I’ll be sure to pass it along to our healers,” Cullen noted, still not looking at Bull. “We can scarcely afford to waste anything. I thank you for sharing the meal. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.” He rose, aiming a polite smile somewhere over Bull’s horns. He turned quickly, patting Krem on the shoulder and giving a vague wave to the Chargers who happened to be looking in his direction. 

“I’ll walk you to your tent,” Bull offered, wiping his hands on his trousers. There was an immediate shift in the tone of the mercenaries. Several snickered, jostling each other with elbows, giving broad winks. 

The heat of Cullen’s irritation solidified to cold anger. “I assure you, that won’t be necessary,” he stated, his voice flat. 

The covert joking died away. There was an instant of near silence, then the Chargers hurriedly busied themselves with their meal, making a point of ignoring Bull as he rose and walked after Cullen. 

The Commander knew he was in the wrong, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Something about Bull’s mothering just rubbed him the wrong way. It was one thing to accept aid while he was actually sick. But inviting Cullen to dinner under false pretenses felt different. Patronizing. 

Cullen sensed that Bull was just a pace or two behind him. Once they were outside the circle of firelight, Cullen forced himself to halt.

“You didn’t have to stop. You know I could catch up in one step, right?” Bull came up to stand next to him. 

Cullen sighed heavily. “I didn’t... I don’t appreciate being....” He dug his fingers into his temples.

Bull waited him out, not looking at him, instead staring out over the camp. After a moment, Cullen tried again. “I’m not a child, Bull. I didn’t _deliberately_ neglect my health. These are desperate times. Sacrifices need to be made. The Herald is proof of that.”

The Qunari growled low in his throat, barely audible. “You’re not a fucking chess piece, pretty boy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not expendable.” Bull turned his head without shifting his body. 

“And you don’t trust me to decide how best to serve, is that it?” Cullen raised one eyebrow. “Need I remind you that outside the bedroom you are not, in fact, in charge of me?” 

“Dammit Cullen, that's not the fucking point. ” Bull rounded on him, crowding his space. Cullen took a step backward.

“No? Then what is your point?” Cullen fought to keep his voice steady.

“The point is we need you right now. You’re too used to being the sword, not the hand wielding it. No one can step in and replace you, not while we're stranded. This martyr bullshit you're pulling could get a lot of people killed. So yeah, I'm gonna do what needs to be done to keep you around. If that means using the advantage of...” he waved vaguely at the space between them, “I'm gonna use it. Even if it means you hate my fucking guts after. If it keeps you alive, it's worth it.”

Cullen's blood went cold. “Is that why you... Maker's breath,” he muttered, turning away. “I wondered why you were bothering with me. I guess I have my answer.”  _ You weak, pathetic fool. Of course he's been manipulating you all along. He's a Ben-Hassrath. And you fell for it.  _

A hand landed on his shoulder, halting his retreat. “Cullen. Look at me.” 

_ Don't. He's trying to trick you.  _ Cullen froze but did not turn. He felt Bull lean down to speak into his ear.

“Beautiful one. I want you alive for selfish reasons, too. Maybe I care about keeping you around more than I care if we ever fuck again. Maybe that's  _ my _ chess move, my gambit.” Bull murmured the words quickly. 

Footsteps crunched the snow behind them. Bull didn't jerk away, just patted Cullen's shoulder as if they'd been having a friendly chat. “Hey boss,” he rumbled.

“It's my two favorite warriors,” Miranda’s voice floated towards them. 

“I'll do you a favor and not tell Blackwall or Cassandra you said that,” Bull joked. There was no sign of urgency in his voice, no hint that he and Cullen had been discussing anything important. 

Cullen turned. “What can I do for you, Herald?” 

“Leliana wanted to speak with you before you,” Miranda said. “Something about the scouts.”

Cullen nodded a short bow. “I'll go find her at once.” 

“I’m headed that way,” Miranda said. “I’ll walk with you. Have a good night, Bull.”

“You too, Boss. Cullen.”

Cullen gave the briefest nod of farewell he could at Bull, not meeting his eye, and strode away.

After a few steps, Miranda spoke up. “Are you feeling better?”

“What? Oh. Yes, fine, thank you.” Cullen shook his head. “Aside from my lack of manners. I should be asking you that. You’re the one that fought your way through the mountains alone.”

“Yeah, remind me not to do that again,” she said, elbowing him.

“I’ll add it to the list,” Cullen said dryly.

The Herald laughed easily. “Funny. I mean, this whole thing is just so.... whenever I try to wrap my mind around it, I can’t. I get so bogged down in how hopeless it all is. But then, I see something like this, and I can’t lose all hope. I mean, look at where we are.” She stopped and waved her hand at the mountains.

Cullen dragged his thoughts away from his clash with Bull and looked in the direction Miranda was pointing. It was, indeed, breathtaking. The moon hung a waxing crescent over the mountains, dimming the snow to silvery grey, the black silhouette of the pines standing out in sharp relief. The crushing wind had gentled to a breeze which kicked up the top layer of snow into swirls that chased each other across the landscape. 

Suddenly Cullen's problems seemed incredibly petty. Was he really so mad at Bull for trying to keep him alive? “Maker, you’re right. You’re exactly right. You shame me, Herald. So easily, I lose sight of what matters. And yet you never do. Perhaps that's why Andraste chose you.” He turned to look at her. 

She turned as well, and they locked eyes for a moment. The wave of piety that had overtaken him drowned out his natural inclination to avoid such a personal moment. Miranda tilted her head. “Cullen -”

Something in her tone of voice set off alarm bells. Maker’s breath, he was  _ staring  _ at her; it was wildly inappropriate. He dragged his gaze away, his hand automatically going to the back of his neck. 

“Are you sure she didn’t pick me for my sense of humor?” Miranda said it seriously, laying a hand on his forearm and gazing into his face with exaggerated sincerity.

Cullen burst out laughing. 

Smiling, Miranda continued. “That, or because I look so good in beige. I mean, I’m really starting to make this tunic look good, wouldn’t you say?” She joked, now laughing herself. “Is there a Chant that explains why beige is the holiest color?”

“We’ll ask Mother Giselle,” Cullen said, holding his arm towards the camp. “I’m sure she has an opinion on the matter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've never tried roasted bone marrow, trust me when I say it is just as delicious to eat as it is disgusting to look at. 
> 
> Also, a bit of housekeeping: I'm going to try to stick to a weekly update schedule from here on out, posting to this fic on Mondays. Let's see how well I can make this work. Currently juggling three different fics. What is my life.


	12. A Rare Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen settles in to Skyhold.

Settling into Skyhold was remarkably easy. It was as if the fortress was waiting for them specifically. Truly, it was a divine blessing. 

The rhythm of work was also a godsend for Cullen. The withdrawal that almost defeated him in the mountains was brought back under control. To be fair, it still troubled him greatly, but for the first time it began to occur to Cullen that perhaps he would survive without lyrium. That posed a set of circumstances that Cullen had previously discounted. The choices one makes in the face of certain death are different than those made with the prospect of a rich, full life ahead. 

As time went on, Cullen began to realize that if he wasn’t in fact facing his imminent demise, it would be rather pleasant, perhaps, to have a relationship. He’d certainly enjoyed the physical closeness with Bull those nights in Kirkwall when they’d shared a bed. It would be quite something to experience that on a regular basis. Though, obviously, Bull himself would not be interested in such an arrangement; clearly, Bull favored variety, and that was perfectly fine.

Cullen had not seen him since that night in the Frostbacks. What was that, two, no, three weeks ago? He wasn’t purposefully ignoring the Qunari; that would be rude. Cullen was simply very, very busy. And neither had Bull sought Cullen out. The Qunari had no doubt bedded half of the Inquisition by now, if the rumors were to be believed. Cullen knew Bull had taken quarters in the top floor of the tavern. The Commander assiduously avoided looking towards the door leading to the battlements, not wanting to watch the procession of satisfied faces coming and going. Not that there was much time to think about it. Or there shouldn’t have been. And yet his mind kept wandering back to Bull.

No, the thing to do was to move on, to find someone else, perhaps once things had settled and Corypheus was defeated. Cullen left the details of who this person would be deliberately vague. Brave, surely, and attractive. Intelligent, perhaps with a sense of humor. 

He had to leave the details hazy because every time he thought about it he realized Bull was all of those things and he would rapidly fall into a rabbit hole of fantasies that left his trousers too tight and an ache in his chest. And that wouldn’t do. No, surely Cullen could find someone else, someone who wanted the same things as he did, once his work was complete. 

It was nearing sunset when Lady Trevelyan wandered into his office, at the end of their third week in the keep. “Inquisitor,” he greeted her.

“Commander,” she grinned. She sauntered up and leaned one hip on the desk, glancing at the papers. 

“Was there something you needed?” Cullen rolled the report in his hand into a scroll and sealed it.

“I... thought we could talk. Alone.” Miranda picked up a quill and ran her fingers delicately through the plume. She looked up at him through her lashes. 

In the space of one breath, Cullen juggled three realizations simultaneously: 

  * The Inquisitor was _definitely_ flirting with him.
  * Cullen had a strange, blank space in his mind where, presumably, he should have some opinion about that one way or another.
  * Maker’s _breath,_ he missed Bull.



“Al-alone? I mean... of course,” Cullen stammered.

They walked out to the battlements. Cullen frantically tried to prepare himself, praying to the Maker that some sort of emotion towards the Inquisitor would reveal itself and make this easier. It wasn’t as if he didn’t  _ admire _ the woman, after all. “It’s ah-- a nice day,” he stalled.

“What?” Miranda jumped a bit, as if she was also deep in an internal monologue.

“It’s... there was something you wished to discuss.”  _ Please, let me be wrong. Maybe she wants to talk about troop rotations. Or weapon requisitions. Or - _

“Certainly not the weather,” she smiled, shifting from foot to foot nervously.

“I assumed that much.”  _ Damn it. Damn it. _ “I can’t say I haven’t wondered what I would say to you in this sort of situation.”  _ In this situation of me realizing I don’t want this beautiful, strong, hilarious woman by the Maker what is wrong with me she’s everything I should want -  _

“What’s stopping you?” Miranda kept her voice calm, but there was apprehension in her eyes.

_ What’s stopping me is the memory of huge hands, holding me down as I beg.  _ Cullen swallowed hard. “You’re the Inquisitor. We’re at war. And you... I didn’t think it was possible.”  _ Maker, please let her believe me. _

“And yet I’m still here,” she pointed out. The hope in Miranda’s eyes was obvious even to Cullen.

Cullen began to panic. Maybe this was the Maker’s way of telling him to forget Bull? Maybe it was a sign that he should - perhaps if he - maybe he could.... 

The moment stretched too long. She was  _ right there, _ and yet Cullen could not lean forward the two inches to kiss her. Maker, he could barely look her in the eye. 

When he did manage to look up, her expression had shifted. The hope was gone, replaced by bittersweet resignation. “I don’t want to... complicate things. Perhaps it’s better if we remain friends.” 

Cullen winced, sighing heavily. Finally, an emotion revealed itself: relief. Well, there was his answer. 

She patted him on the arm, gave him a cringing smile, and walked away. 

“I suppose it is,” he said to no one.

Any hope that their discussion had remained private was dashed the next day, when he met Dorian for chess. Cullen had to admit he enjoyed the Tevinter’s company, though it was difficult to tell if he was a bigger flirt or cheat.

“So,” Dorian said, leaning back in this chair. “Word ‘round the Keep is that the handsome Commander resisted the advances of a beautiful cousin of mine. I have half a mind to be offended. Blood runs thicker than water, you know.”

Cullen sighed heavily and moved a pawn. “I think that's rather your area of expertise.”

“Resisting advances of beautiful women? I hardly think so.”

“I meant the thickness of blood,” Cullen drawled.

Dorian laughed. “You really are delightful. Almost as delightful as the Inquisitor. For you to have turned her down leads me to believe some other lucky lass has stolen your heart. Which means I’ll have to guess. Unless you’d care to simply tell me?”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Are you trying to distract me from the game? I assure you, it won’t work.”

Dorian's eyes glinted. “Hmm, I’m going to rule out Vivienne, only because I know she’d never even consider getting close to that hideous mantle.”

“What’s wrong with my mantle?” Cullen laughed, glancing at his shoulders.

“You’re joking, yes? What’s  _ wrong _ with it? What’s wrong is that it’s customary to actually clean and tan the fur before making it into a garment. Not merely haul a mangy corpse round one’s shoulders.” Dorian sniffed. He regarded the board. “Where was I? Oh yes. So -- definitely not Madame du Fer. Perhaps Josephine? Though I can’t imagine that she’d be interested in a man with so few connections.” The mage shifted a pawn seemingly at random.

Cullen knew he should probably be offended by Dorian's tirade, but it was more amusing than anything. “I have connections,” Cullen pouted.

“What, do you have an option on half a pig farm outside Lothering?” Dorian cooed.

Cullen blinked. “Actually, I might, if my brother Brandon ever decides to retire.”

“I rest my case. So. Who else. Lelia-no. Let’s not kid ourselves. Moving on. Cassandra? Ooh, now that might work. I could see you arm-wrestling until the wee hours of the morning, then trading whetstones as tokens of affection. Except... no. She and Varric already argue like husband and wife.”

“They do,” Cullen agreed. “Believe me. There was little else to do when we sailed from Kirkwall but listen to the two of them bicker.”

“Ha! Do you think they’ll ever just get it over with and kiss?” Dorian's eyes glinted.

Cullen shrugged. “Perhaps if she trips and falls on him, yes.”

Dorian's howl of laughter was very gratifying. Surely the mage would drop the topic now?

“Well. I see we’ll have to go further afield in our investigations. Perhaps that dwarf, Harding?” Dorian raised an eyebrow.

Cullen threw up his hands in defeat. “Dorian.  _ If _ there were someone, I would certainly not tell you their name. So, given that there is no one, and therefore a name is not to be had, will you drop it?”

The ploy failed. Dorian leaned forward slowly. “I detect a distinct lack of the feminine pronoun, my good Commander. Perhaps you are more... omnivorous in your tastes?” His eyebrow was cocked seductively.

Cullen opened his mouth to deflect the question, but unfortunately, his blush spoke for him. 

“Ha! I knew it! Varric owes me a sovereign.” Dorian slapped the chessboard, sending pieces flying in every direction. 

“So much for my victory,” Cullen sighed, moving to pick up the pieces.

“You should come to the tavern tonight. I’ll buy you a drink. We’ve missed you, you know. Bull was just remarking on how long it’s been since you - I say, are you all right?”

Cullen had slammed his head on the underside of the table at the mention of Bull’s name. “Yes, fine,” Cullen said through gritted teeth. 

The bell tolled in the keep. “Well. I must be going. You should come to the tavern tonight. You work too hard.” Dorian rose, smoothing his robes into place. “Since you’re _ all alone _ , perhaps I can help you do something about that.” He winked impishly, then laughed. 

“I’ll think about it.”

Cullen did not think about it. Instead he threw himself into the afternoon’s duties with the type of focus that only comes from avoiding certain trains of thought. The thought that Bull had asked about him loomed like a shadow over everything, demanding attention, but Cullen ignored it. Weapon requisition reports were hardly spellbinding, but that afternoon he read each word twice, really  _ considering  _ how many iron ingots were necessary, rather than rubber-stamping the form. Perhaps a more efficient design would require less metal? He should ask Dagna to look into it. Yes. No point in wasting iron, even though the Inquisitor seemed hell-bent on finding every ore deposit in the Hinterlands.

The toll of the dinner bell roused Cullen. He continued to not-think as he changed out of his armor and into a tunic and trousers. His mind was utterly blank as he dutifully filled a bowl of stew in the dining hall and ate it. And there was a total lack of conscious activity as his feet somehow took step after step through the keep and into the Herald’s Rest. 

Dorian was there, at a table near the fire, along with Varric and Sera. “Commander!” he called out, raising his tankard in greeting.

In an instant, Bull’s absence registered in Cullen's awareness. The vague beginnings of disappointment and relief began to take root. Except that as soon as Dorian's voice rang out, there was movement on the other side of the stairwell. Someone rising quickly to their feet. Someone very large.

Someone with horns. 

Bull peered around the post. The smile which bloomed across his face tugged at something in Cullen, as if there was a rope tied around something inside his chest.

“Cullen! Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight.” Bull strode up, clapping Cullen on the shoulder. “Let me buy you a drink.” He didn’t wait for an answer, heading to the bar.

Cullen sat abruptly. He was still trying to figure out why he’d come at all.

“What’s the occasion, Curly?” Varric grinned.

_ “I  _ invited him,” Dorian crowed, as if getting Cullen to come to the tavern was some sort of accomplishment.

Bull plonked a tankard in front of him. “About damn time,” he grunted. “Beginning to think the Boss shackled you to your desk.” 

Something about the way Bull said  _ shackled you to your desk  _ jolted Cullen's brain into action. Of course, the thoughts which crowded fast and thick were shamefully filthy. Raising his mug in a wordless toast, he took a large gulp of ale to give himself a moment to clear his head. 

“So, you came out for the ‘Vint, eh?” Bull raised his tankard, giving Cullen a sidelong glance. 

“He asked,” Cullen said simply.

“Fair enough,” Bull chuckled. 

Perhaps coming to the tavern was a mistake. There was too much unsaid, too many questions and confusion. 

But there was no way to get up and leave without calling attention to himself.  _ Finish your ale, don’t talk to Bull, and remember to smile, Rutherford. Then you can leave.  _

“So, you and the Quizzie, eh?” Sera smirked. “You tryin’ it on or what?”

Cullen winced. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Saw you all kissy-close on the wall yesterday, didn’t I?” Sera made some exaggerated smooching noises.

Bull spun his head around to look at Cullen so fast he almost knocked him in the head with a horn.

“Now now, leave our poor Commander alone. He’s not involved with the Inquisitor.  _ Much _ to her disappointment.” Dorian drawled.  _ “I  _ think he’s got a  _ gentleman _ caller. Shame it’s not me,” he sighed, examining his fingernails. “All  _ I  _ have is a great brute of a Qunari, who talks a big game and never follows through.” 

Bull recovered. “Oh, I don’t think you could handle me, Sparkler.” He grinned wide and dirty, then swallowed a huge gulp of ale.

“I most certainly could!” Dorian objected.

“Eugh, can we not talk about your danglies for a moment?” Sera grimaced.

“Curly, did you really turn down Miranda?” Varric tilted his head in confusion.

Cullen rubbed his forehead. “What happened between myself and the  _ Herald of Andraste _ is no one’s concern.” He stressed her honorary title, hoping it would end the discussion. 

“You know, you’re gonna be a virgin forever if you keep that attitude up,” Varric snickered.

“I’m  _ not _ -” Cullen huffed in frustration and lowered his voice. “I’m not a virgin. Anyway. I’m not about to take advice for romance from  _ you.” _

“Hey! I do all right,” Varric protested, laughing.

“All right? You must be getting a lot more out of bickering with Seeker Cassandra than you let on.” Cullen shot back.

Bull roared with laughter, slapping him on the back. Luckily everyone else laughed as well, including Varric. “Ah, we missed you, Curly.” He raised his mug and grinned.

“Yeah we did,” Bull agreed. His leg pressed up against Cullen's under the table. 

Cullen was torn between wanting to move away from Bull and lean in closer. Maker, he’d missed Bull more than he realized. It was intoxicating, just smelling his horn balm and leather and musk. 

Either that, or it was the fact that he’d downed his ale in record time. In either event, Cullen felt a bit tipsy. Best to take his leave. 

“Oh, no no no, where do you think you’re going?” Dorian put a hand on Cullen’s shoulder and shoved him back down, plunking another tankard in front of him.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered.

“Pretty sure you can handle a second pint,” Bull chided him. “Not gonna kill you to relax.”

Something about the way he said it raised Cullen's hackles. Was the Qunari  _ still _ insisting on fussing over him like a mother hen? Cullen ground his teeth together, biting back a snide remark.

“Hey,” Bull said, leaning over, keeping his voice low. The others were busy trying to outdo each other in telling ribald jokes and weren’t paying attention. “Hey. Didn't mean it like that. I’m glad to see you.”

Cullen kept his eyes straight ahead, but managed a curt nod. He gulped down more of his beer, glad for the excuse to not speak. 

Bull laughed at something Sera said, lifted his glass, but didn’t drink. “You want me to go?” he asked under his breath. He pulled his leg away from Cullen.

The breath whooshed out of Cullen's lungs. He looked up at Bull, his brows drawn together. “Of course not.” 

“Of course  _ what _ not?” Dorian asked, suddenly paying attention.

“Just asking the Commander if he would say no to another pint.” Bull lied smoothly. 

“Three pints, Curly? You sure you can handle it? That’ll put you at... half of what Buttercup’s had.” Varric calculated the elf’s consumption on his fingers.

Sera thwacked him on the back of his head.

Tension with the Iron Bull aside, Cullen was actually enjoying himself. He’d missed the camaraderie of the tavern these past few weeks. It was still such a luxury, being able to spend time relaxing with friends. There were few such opportunities in Kirkwall under Meredith. 

Bull's threat of a third pint soon became reality. Cullen by now was solidly tipsy, and the additional drink seemed like a fantastic idea. Varric launched into a story about Isabela. 

“Oooh, sounds just my sort,” Sera winked.

“She was just everyone's sort,” Cullen mumbled. 

Four sets of eyes trained on him. “What?” Varric was the first to speak.

Cullen belatedly realized how that sounded. “Maker, no, I meant she was very beautiful. Not that she - Maker's breath.”

Varric waved him off. “It's fine, Curly. She  _ is _ very friendly.”

Bull grinned. “She is that,” he sighed lustily, and they all laughed. 

The conversation moved on. Cullen had forgotten about Isabela and her pique at her quarry being poached. “Glad she got what she wanted eventually,” he muttered to himself into his tankard.

“What was that?” Bull leaned over, keeping his voice low.

“Oh, er. Isabela. She was put out with me. Because of. Well. She got what she wanted in the end, though, eh?” Somehow talking about the person that had sex with Bull after Cullen left was harder to talk about than he anticipated. 

“Nah,” Bull shrugged. “She didn’t.”

“ _ What??” _ Cullen spluttered. Four sets of eyes trained on him again, but he didn't care. “You didn’t sleep with her?”

Bull hesitated a fraction of a second, gauging the situation. “Nope,” he concluded, his voice casual.

“But.... why not?” Cullen's confusion and tipsiness hampered his ability to recognize how inappropriate the question was.

“You hoping I could give you a play by play, killer?”

Everyone laughed, and Cullen's cheeks flamed. Not from Bull’s comeback, but because Cullen realized he'd crossed a line. The ale was getting to him. He needed to go. 

A few minutes later, Dorian, Varric, and Sera all went to the bar together. Cullen rose as well. “I think I'll take my leave. Been a long day.”

“And you wanna go before you make any bad decisions, that it?” Bull grinned.

Cullen frowned. “What?”

Bull shrugged. “I've been the bad decision for a lotta folks. I recognize the signs.” 

He was smiling as he said it, but the sentiment just made Cullen sad. On top of his already brewing confusion, it wasn’t a pleasant sensation. “Not mine.”

“Excuse me?”

“I was referring to my loose tongue just now. You were never a bad decision, Bull.” That's when Cullen knew he needed to leave. The admission pulled at something in him. Some things were best left unsaid, after all.

The others were making their way back over. “What? Are you leaving?” Dorian seemed offended.

“I'm afraid so.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve much to do in the morning.”

He endured a few moments of good-natured ribbing from the others, then gave a friendly smile and walked out the front door.

It felt good, breathing in the cool night air. He strolled casually across the courtyard, heading to his chambers the long way around, through the Great Hall. The walk did him good, calmed both his thoughts and emotions. It was so pleasant, in fact, that it seemed a grand idea to walk along the battlements. 

Cullen therefore walked straight through his office, opening the door on the far side. He never used this door; it lead to the mage’s tower, and to the tavern. Bull was still drinking; no chance of running into him. Not that he would be opposed, of course, but he certainly wasn’t going to seek the Qunari out.

Striding out on to the wall, Cullen took three steps before halting so suddenly he almost lost his balance. Bull was walking towards him.

“Commander! Fancy meeting you here,” he said, friendly as you like.

“I thought you were -” Cullen blurted.

“Thought I was what?” Bull asked, his voice now quiet. “You want me to leave?”

Cullen exhaled slowly. “No. Of course not.”

“You want me to  _ stay?” _ Bull tilted his head to the side.

The distinction was slight, but crucial. Cullen looked away.  _ Maker, but he was weak.  _ “I....” He grunted in frustration at himself.

“You want me to stay, but you don’t want to admit it? I’m used to that, pretty boy. You don’t have to worry.” Bull was matter-of-fact, but there was that undercurrent of resignation. Or perhaps it was simply Cullen's imagination. 

_ “No. _ Bull. Maker, that's not it.” Cullen sighed. “Look, we can’t have this discussion here. Come inside, at least.” He beckoned towards the door to his office.

Bull blinked, but nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Once inside, Cullen lit a few tapers and poked the embers in the brazier to life. He then flopped into the chair behind his desk. “By Andraste, I’m tired. Ale makes me sleepy.”

Bull stood on the other side of the desk, looking down at him. “Sleepy.” He snorted. “You are just so fucking cute sometimes, you know that?” He leaned on the desk with one hip, as Miranda had the other day.

“I don’t think I’ve been called cute since I was a pudgy toddler.” Cullen stifled a yawn, propping his cheek on his hand. “It’s good to see you, Bull.”

“You sure? Seemed like I pissed you off pretty good a few weeks ago. Can’t blame you.” Bull gazed at the books lining the wall.

“I was angry, I’ll admit. But that was foolish. You were only trying to help. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t... I didn’t give you much reason to trust my judgement. I can see that now.” The buzz of the drinks was beginning to fade, replaced by fatigue - not just physically, but with himself, with the situation. 

“Wasn’t sure you’d let me help if I was open about it,” Bull grunted. “Didn’t seem the time to take the risk.”

Cullen huffed a tiny laugh. “You’re right about that. Accepting help? Preposterous.” 

Bull nodded, still not looking at him. “How have you been?”

“Fine,” Cullen said. “Now that I know my limits.” Cullen let his eyes fall closed. “Why didn’t you sleep with her? Isabela, I mean.”

There was a sound of leather shifting as Bull shrugged. “Is it some rule I have to sleep with every person that looks my way?”

“No, but - I just thought -” Cullen didn’t know how to finish that statement without making it sound insulting.  _ I thought you slept with everyone _ just didn’t have a good ring to it. “Sorry. That was unworthy of me. None of my business.”

Bull grinned. “It’s alright. You of all people know I like to fuck.”

The glint of heat in Bull’s eye made Cullen wish he wasn’t quite so exhausted. “Maybe I know a little, I suppose.”

“You wanna know more? Not tonight,” Bull amended quickly. “You’re not in any shape for it.”

Cullen was disappointed and relieved. Funny how often the two seemed to go together these days. “I think... Maker take it all, yes. I do.” 

“Good,” Bull said, standing up. He came around the desk and squatted by Cullen's chair. He was still a few inches taller. His gaze was possessive; Cullen felt that tug, not not just in his chest but in his groin. Cullen swallowed and licked his lips.

Bull didn’t move, but his lips hitched in the corner. 

Cullen smirked as well, remembering how much the Qunari had enjoyed him taking the initiative. He leaned forward, slow enough that he could see Bull’s smile widen. Perhaps it was the inebriation, or just the utter ridiculousness of it all, but Cullen had a sudden spark of mischievousness. He stopped a fraction of an inch from Bull’s mouth.

After a moment, Bull started to laugh. “You little shit,” he grunted, yanking Cullen to him. 

Cullen was laughing too, a bit giddy. He relaxed into the kiss. Bull tasted like beer, but Cullen was fairly sure he did as well. It seemed odd to kiss with no endgame planned. It was... it was nice. 

There was that odd tugging sensation in his chest; dimly, Cullen realized he was making a mistake. But the weight of fatigue and physical gratification drowned out the alarm. Surely there was no harm in taking pleasure where it was offered? At least until someone more suitable came along? The thought rang hollow, but Cullen couldn’t find it in himself to care. Bull was here now, and the future, with all of its inevitable disappointment, seemed very, very far away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things: In regards to the first paragraph, yes, the "divine blessing" was intentional. Not even remotely sorry. And second, the title chapter is in regards to the flirtation dialogue tree for the in-game Cullen romance. It took me AGES to find a youtube clip that showed the dialogue if you select the "broken heart" option. Apparently not a lot of people select that option. I know I never do. ;)


	13. Learning Curve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen learns a lot more from Bull's training than he bargains for.

When Bull had told Cullen he wanted to talk before they had sex again, Cullen knew it would be a mildly uncomfortable conversation. For all the intensity of Cullen's desire, he lacked the ability to talk about sex with any alacrity. So he knew it was going to be difficult. 

What Cullen was not expecting was for Bull to trawl the depths of sexual congress. He described positions and activities that hardly seemed possible, much less desirable. And this was  _ before _ Bull brought up the more exotic portions of his repertoire. An increasingly flustered Cullen was asked what he thought of each: yes, no, or maybe.

Bull had also told him that he might experience a strange state of mind. Possibly fuzzy-headed, suggestible, or like he was floating. Cullen wasn’t quite sure he understood that part, honestly. But he was certainly curious, even if he privately doubted whether he could actually achieve that state. 

A day had passed since what Cullen was mentally referring to as The Talk. Tonight was to be the first night of what Bull was calling Cullen's “training”. The Commander was nervous. He’d bathed, shaved, and changed into a clean tunic and trousers. Cullen even drank half a cup of spindleweed tea -- not enough to make him drowsy, but enough to ensure that the now-slim potential for an attack of nausea was all but eliminated.

All that remained was to show up. Tugging his clothing straight for the umpteenth time, Cullen took a deep breath and headed across the battlements to the top floor of the tavern.

Cullen rapped on the door smartly, and it opened immediately. “Right on time,” Bull grinned.

Cullen nodded, gratified he’d gotten at least that right. He walked in, standing in the center of the room as Bull locked the doors. He looked around in curiosity. The quarters were large. The remains of ivy trailed up two walls, and waxed canvas had been tacked up to cover the gap in the roof. It was warm, almost too warm, the braziers pouring out heat.

“You still okay with this?” Bull asked, looking at him intently. “Far as I’m concerned we can just fuck.”

“No I - I want to,” Cullen insisted.

Bull nodded. “All right. Gonna start simple. Wanna see how you react to being bound. Getting tied up can sometimes knock something loose. ‘Specially for someone that's gone through some pretty messed up shit.” Bull rooted through a chest in the corner. He pulled out a coil of deep red silk rope. “Rather find that out sooner than later.”

It still didn’t make sense to Cullen. He shifted his weight, fidgeting.

“You got a question?” Bull asked.

“What does it matter how I react? It’s not supposed to be comfortable, is it?” Cullen’s eyes never left the rope.

“See, now that's an excellent question,” Bull said, and the undertone of approval made Cullen look up to meet his gaze. “No. It’s not supposed to be comfortable. But I don’t want you to panic, either. There’s a sweet spot I wanna hit. Look, I know a lot of this doesn’t make sense right now. Think of it this way. Doesn’t matter how many swordfights you watch. You gotta learn to hold a sword and shield before you can spar.”

Cullen was too annoyed at himself for overlooking the obvious to notice the patience in Bull’s voice. He nodded, once.

Bull flashed a grin. “Good. Okay. Since this is training, you can ask questions whenever you want.” 

The spark in Cullen's gut flared. “Will I... not be asking questions? Later?”

Bull’s grin widened, and he began to stalk up to Cullen. “That depends. Maybe I’ll want you nice and quiet, only give you permission to speak when I feel like it. Maybe I’ll gag you sometimes, so you can scream.” Bull was just inches away, towering over him. “You like that idea?”

Throat dry, Cullen swallowed hard and gave a shaky nod.

“Good. Now. Time to get rid of that clothing.” Bull grinned. Cullen reached to the neckline of his tunic, but Bull shook his head. “Nah. I got this one, pretty boy.” 

Bull tugged slowly on the knot at Cullen's neckline. Such a simple thing, and yet combined with the intensity of Bull’s gaze, Cullen found himself trembling. When the lace was loose, Bull reached down and dragged the hem of the tunic up the sides of Cullen's stomach. His touch was firm, and Cullen raised his arms without thinking. When the tunic was pulled over his head, Bull broke his gaze, roving his eye down Cullen's chest. A single finger was drawn down his breastbone, then mapped the pale trail of hair from navel to waistline. 

When Bull’s hand reached the fabric, he looked up, his gaze heavy with anticipation. Cullen's breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t seem to look away, and so felt, rather than saw, Bull yank on the laces of his breeches. Then those huge hands slid down his hips, the fabric scraping over his thickening cock.

“Nice,” Bull breathed. He slid down to one knee, his horns at Cullen's shoulders. Cullen raised each foot, guided by Bull’s touch, and felt his boots shucked off. It was an odd sensation, being undressed. Bull was kneeling, true, but there was no question who was in control. It was almost as if Cullen was an elaborately wrapped Orlesian sweet, like the ones Josephine hoarded in her desk, peeling away the foil slowly, savoring the anticipation.

And then Cullen was naked. The trembling was less, but still apparent. Bull rose again, circling him. “Damn, pretty one. Never thought....” Bull exhaled, a whoosh of breath that did nothing to elaborate on what he left unsaid. “On the bed. Lay down, on your back.”

Cullen complied, glad for the specificity of the instruction. As Cullen scooted to the center of the mattress, Bull retrieved the rope, wrapping it in his fists. Too late, Cullen realized he was licking his lips. Was he truly so wanton? 

Before Cullen could get sucked into the whirlpool of self-recrimination simmering just under the surface, Bull was guiding his ankles towards the bedposts. The rope was expertly looped around each foot, snaked around the posts of the bed, and then tied off. When that was done, Bull leaned up to stand. “How’s that feel?”

Cullen tugged experimentally on his bonds. “Uh, good?” 

Bull snorted. “It’s lucky I know how sincere you are, pretty one, otherwise I’d think you were sassing me.”

Cullen flushed, and he felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. “Maybe I... perhaps this isn’t a good idea. I can’t even answer a simple question properly.” He raised onto one elbow.

Moving with surprising speed, Bull was at the side of the bed before Cullen could blink. He laid a hand on Cullen's shoulder, stroking his arm. “Shit, sorry. Look, Cullen. You can leave anytime you want. But this training is as much for me as it is for you. Been a long time since I’ve done this, and never with someone as new to it as you are. How about this. I promise to ask more specific questions, and you promise to not get all wrapped up in your own head with your answers.”

Cullen relaxed fractionally. Privately, he wasn’t sure he could side-step the insecurity that dogged him. Still, there was no denying he wanted this.  _ Maker _ , did he want this. Promises were difficult to keep, however, even under -

“See, that's what I mean,” Bull smiled, waving a finger vaguely at Cullen's face. “That thing you’re doing right there. That's what I’m talking about.”

Laughing ruefully, Cullen flopped to the mattress, boneless. “I can try.”

“That’s what I like to hear, beautiful one.” Bull was still smiling, but the knuckles that traced down Cullen's jawline were impossibly gentle. “Now. Your bonds. Any discomfort? Circulation issues? Pinching?”

Cullen shook his head. “Pinching? Is that truly a concern?” 

Bull continued to drag his hand down Cullen's skin. “I only want you to feel the sensations that I give you. Otherwise it might take away from the experience. I don’t want you distracted. If I want you to feel pinching, I’ll pinch you.” He pinched Cullen's nipple, hard, until he gasped. “Understand?”

Nodding far too quickly to mask his eagerness, Cullen forced his breathing to approximately normal. 

“I’m gonna tie your hands now.” Bull rose and repeated the process. When he was done, Cullen could see the Qunari’s chest rising and falling as he surveyed his handiwork. 

Cullen tugged at his bonds. Having his feet bound was one thing; losing control over his hands was another. Bull hadn’t just wrapped his wrists, but looped the rope several times around Cullen's forearms as well. There was a little give to the rope, but not much. Not much at all. 

Cullen was transfixed by the way the silk dug into his skin. It hit him, then, what was happening. Not that he felt unsafe, exactly, but he hadn’t been this vulnerable since Kinloch. It wasn’t so much that, as the fact that he had  _ volunteered _ himself to be tied up, naked, in someone's bed, without even the excuse of getting caught up in raging lust to fall back on. He wanted this because he  _ wanted _ it; there was no escape from that fact.

“Hey. Cullen. You okay?” Bull’s voice cut into his reverie.

It was tempting, to just say yes, to laugh it off. But he’d promised to try. “It. Um.” Cullen cleared his throat. “Just. A bit disconcerting.” 

Once again, Bull was at his side in an instant. “You want me to untie you?” 

Cullen forced himself to answer, even just a few words, before the maelstrom of thoughts overcame him. “No, I.... it’s just... this isn’t exactly the scenario in which I pictured being immobilized. I rather thought we would be... um.”

“You thought we’d be fucking.” Bull’s eyebrow twitched. 

“Er. Yes.”

“Yeah. I know. But fantasies are one thing. Real life, there might be moments when the reality of it hits you. This shaking loose any bad memories, anything like that?” 

“More... wondering how I got here.” It seemed a safe admission. Bull wanted honesty, but there was a difference between spinning the truth and blurting out the awkward confession that it was still difficult for him to accept he wanted this at all. 

“You and me both,” Bull chuckled. “You’re alright, though? Not panicky or anything?”

“No.” Cullen was still transfixed by the rope pressing into his skin. He pulled against the bonds again, watching the faint pink tinge of his skin fade as he relaxed. “Not panicking.”

“That’s good. Real good. ‘Cause I gotta tell you, not sure I’ve seen something quite so beautiful as you in that rope. Knew it was the right color.” Bull grunted in appreciation.

The faint heat of shame that had been growing in Cullen's chest was extinguished by gratified surprise. “You... got this special?”

“Oh, uh. Well, I mean, we’ll work up to hemp, but figured starting with something a little smoother might be easier. And, uh, I didn’t have any silk rope left, so I picked some up last time I was in Val Royeaux. You know. Just in case.” Bull coughed nervously. 

Cullen started to laugh. Apparently he wasn’t the only one feeling slightly self-conscious about the situation. Somehow he felt better about the whole thing. It was only sex, after all. “Val Royeaux, eh? Hope you didn’t let the Orlesians gouge you on the price.”

Bull began to laugh as well, the sound tinged with embarrassment and relief. “Not many merchants stupid enough to cheat me. Anyway, Jacques is my go-to guy in Val Royeaux. Always has the best toys.” 

“You... have a dedicated vendor for these things?” Cullen blinked. 

The bed squeaked as Bull sat on the side of the mattress. “Of course. Can’t trust just anyone. You deserve the best, after all.” 

Cullen had no time to contemplate whether the ‘you’ in question was meant to be singular or plural. Because there was that touch again: Bull’s fingers, far too thick to move with such delicacy. Yet they did, skittering down Cullen's breastbone. Caught off-guard, Cullen arched into the sensation, inhaling sharply. 

Bull answered with a sound which was too reverent to be called a growl. “Wish you could see how gorgeous you look, tied up for me.” 

Cullen's cock was beginning to revive under Bull’s scrutiny. “I....” His voice died out.

“You have a question?” Bull’s hand changed direction, sliding up Cullen's thigh.

Swallowing hard, Cullen clenched his jaw once, twice, trying to work up the courage. “Could. Would you. Kiss me? Please?”

It was almost imperceptible, the way Bull’s brow tensed and relaxed. Cullen didn’t notice, or if he did, he didn’t understand what it meant. What he did know is that Bull nodded and answered him. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

Bull leaned down and brushed his lips over Cullen's, back and forth. Cullen rose up, chasing the kiss. When Bull finally indulged him, pressing forward, Cullen moaned in relief. The sound urged Bull on, and he sucked Cullen's bottom lip, dragging his teeth as he pulled away. “Something like that, pretty boy?”

Suddenly aware of how hard he was breathing, Cullen blinked fast. Bull was smirking down at him, waiting for a response.

For once, Cullen didn’t really think. He just responded. “Thank you,” he breathed.

It was difficult to tell, but it seemed like Bull shuddered. “You are so perfect for this,” he murmured. “Damn, pretty one.”

Cullen hoped his grin wasn’t as goofy as it felt. If the thumb sliding across his lips was any indication, perhaps he was in the clear. 

“We better move on before I just take what I want while you’re all tied up pretty like this.” Bull sat up. 

Cullen was successful in biting back the whimper of disappointment, but his hips bucked.

His eagerness was rewarded with a dark chuckle. “Don’t worry. Plenty of time for that later. Unless you don’t want a spanking tonight?”

This time, Cullen whimpered shamelessly. “Maker’s breath, please, please.”

Bull shook his head. “Beautiful.” He smiled as he untied Cullen, then guided him to lie on his stomach. “I’m only going to use my hand. I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” Cullen said at once.

From behind him, he heard Bull inhale sharply. After a brief pause, Bull’s hand smoothed over Cullen's skin. “Shit, Cullen, you’re killing me with how perfect you're gonna be. Once I start, I don’t want you to hold back your reaction. I know you’re nervous, and you wanna do this right. Don’t worry about that. Just react naturally. Don’t try to be tough, or anything like that. Trust me, I’ll be pushing you. You remember your watchword?”

“Phylactery,” Cullen whispered. 

“Good.” Bull continued to stroke Cullen's ass and thighs. “Can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this, beautiful one.” He landed a light smack on Cullen's ass.

It was barely a pat, really. Cullen usually spanked himself far harder to start. He rested his head on his forearms.

Bull increased the intensity gradually. Finally it began to sting, and Cullen relaxed further into the mattress, grunting in satisfaction.

Bull chuckled. “Like that, do you?” 

“Mmm,” Cullen said. He sank into the rhythm of it, his senses focusing, reducing down to the room, his body, and Bull.

The sound ended in a hiss as Bull smacked him, hard. “Asked you a question, pretty boy.”

“Yes, I like it,” Cullen clarified his statement. 

“Good.”  _ Smack _ . “Cause this ass is starting to get niiiiice and pink.”  _ Smack.  _ “All for me.”

It was starting to hurt in earnest. The stinging sensation was taking longer to dissipate, each stroke landing before the bite lifted, leaving a dull, hot ache. Cullen's inhales became grunts, then yelps. 

“You’re doing good.”  _ Smack.  _ “Very good.”  _ Smack.  _ “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. You like this?”

“Yes, I like it. I like it,” Cullen gritted out, sucking air through his teeth. “Thank you, Bull.”

Bull’s growl was almost a roar. “Shit. Precious one. You thanking me for getting your ass all rosy?”

“Yes, Maker, thank you, thank you. Please. More.” Cullen wasn’t altogether in control of his words any longer. He didn’t care. With each smack, he flinched away, then reared back up eagerly. It was so much better than doing it himself. The sensation was similar, true, but the anticipation was simply indescribable. And the knowledge that Bull was in control? Cullen's cock throbbed, leaking. 

“You’re being very good for me. You want more?”

Cullen groaned. He’d never pushed himself this far before. He was no longer sure what he wanted. He felt empty, or perhaps it wasn't emptiness. Perhaps it was that he was so full of the sensations Bull was giving him that his wants had been drowned out. “I.... I want....”

_ Smack.  _ “Come on, my beautiful one. Tell me.”

“It hurts,” Cullen whimpered.

_ Smack.  _ “Fuck yeah, it does. This ass is nice and red. Mmm, gorgeous. Come on, precious one. Tell me what you want.”

If only it were that simple. Cullen was desperate for the pain to stop, but there was a gloss of ecstasy that was calling to him. He wanted it to end, but also to go on forever. “I don’t know, I don’t know.” He rutted into the bed.

“Don’t know, eh? Maybe you need some relief.” Bull’s hand landed, gently, on Cullen's inner thigh, then slid up.

Cullen frantically tried to spread his legs, moaning. “Maker, please, Bull please. Please, yes, I want. I want  _ you.”  _

There was the sound of muffled swearing in Qunlat, then the bed creaked and shifted. Cullen reared up to his elbows, almost panicking. He’d done something wrong. He’d done something wrong, and Bull was displeased. Bull was  _ leaving. _ Despair clutched at him. “What - no, no, please, no, don’t go don't -” He flailed, trying to look over his shoulder.

Bull was there immediately. “Shh, shh, I’m right here. Just getting some oil. It’s alright. Right here, my beautiful one. Not going anywhere.”

Cullen panted, his breath catching as he fought down the panic, relief flooding through him. He reached out, then faltered, unsure.

Bull grasped his wrist, pulling Cullen's hand to his chest. “It’s alright. Gonna sit on the bed, okay? Want you to sit in my lap, so I can take care of you. You’ve been very good, precious. You want me to take care of you?”

Cullen nodded, pushing himself up. Somehow Bull arranged their bodies, Cullen straddling him, kneeling over his thighs. 

“You’re doing very well. My pretty one, so perfect.” Bull reached down, grasping both of their cocks, slicking them with oil. “Move with me? Can you do that for me?”

Whimpering, Cullen rocked up and down, guided by the hand Bull wrapped around the side of his waist. “Oh,  _ Maker,”  _ he whined. 

Rhythm established, Bull’s hand slid around to grip Cullen's still-aching ass, one finger resting against his entrance. At the same time, Bull leaned forward and kissed him, deep and slow and gentle.

There was no way to tell how long Cullen held out. A few minutes, perhaps? A lifetime? Whatever the duration, it was not enough. It would never be enough. But the orgasm took hold, and Cullen frantically rutted, his whimpers muffled by Bull’s mouth. He came  _ hard,  _ gasping and jerking, dragging Bull with him. Bull continued to pump them both, stopping just shy of the point of over-sensitivity. 

Cullen flopped weakly on to Bull’s shoulder. Bull rubbed circles into his back with his clean hand. 

Eventually, Cullen inhaled sharply, coming to, as if - “Maker, did I fall asleep?”

“Not exactly,” Bull said quietly. “You went under, like I told you about.”

“Oh.” There was probably something else for him to say, but Cullen was at a loss to find the words at the moment. 

Bull guided them both to lay prone, Cullen on his side. He was no longer drifting in that liminal space, but neither did he have any desire to get up and leave. The last time Bull had slept next to him, Cullen hadn't really been in any condition to enjoy it. He'd almost forgotten how deeply satisfying it was, resting his face on Bull's chest, listening to the Qunari's heartbeat and breath. 

Perhaps he could stay like this? It was a very, very faint hope. Since joining the Inquisition, Bull had always been quick to latch onto any excuse to leave after they'd been together. Cullen could take a hint. Maybe Bull had gotten his desire to actually sleep with Cullen out of his system in Kirkwall. Maybe Cullen snored, or ground his teeth, or farted, or was in some other way a less-than-desirable sleeping partner. 

So Cullen hoarded the minutes, trying to make them last as long as possible. Any second now, Bull would surely make it clear it was time for Cullen to go.  _ Just keep your calm, Rutherford. When he tells you to leave, don't be disappointed. _

"You're tensing up." Bull spoke quietly, but the words reverberated in Cullen's ear.

"Am I?" Cullen fretted. 

"Everything alright? You okay with tonight?" One of Bull's hands shifted to stroke Cullen's hair.

It was hard not to laugh.  _ The only part I'm not okay with is the fact that it has to end. _ "Yes. Yes I- I'm good." Cullen sighed.

"You don't sound good."

Cullen made a noncommittal sound, hoping Bull would drop it. He tried to will his body to relax, even as the chest under his cheek rose and fell like a wave of a calm sea. There was a moment of silence, but the stillness was gone, replaced by the weight of what was coming next. 

"You need to go, don't you. That's why you're tensing up." Bull's voice was heavy, dull.

Cullen winced.  _ If you hadn't gone and ruined it, maybe you could've stayed a bit longer. Excellent work, Commander.  _ Clearly Bull was trying to make him feel better, by putting it back on Cullen in such a manner. It was embarrassing, that Bull felt the need to make such an excuse. Surely Bull's other lovers wouldn't make a fuss about leaving. 

"I... suppose I should." Cullen began to heave himself up. He put on the most neutral face he could muster.

Bull didn't say anything, just watched calmly as Cullen slid from the bed and tottered to the washstand. He cleaned up quickly, now in a hurry to get this over with as quickly as possible.

When he turned, Bull was still looking at him. "What?" Cullen frowned.

"Just admiring my handiwork," Bull smirked. "Might want to hit that with some elfroot salve when you get to your room."

Cullen reached behind and felt his skin; it was still hot and sensitive, and deeply reddened, no doubt. He blushed and bent to retrieve his clothes. "I'll be fine." 

Bull shrugged. "It's your ass."

A lifetime as a soldier meant Cullen could dress in a handful of seconds. Now that it was clear he needed to leave, he was desperate to get it over with as quickly as possible. He felt... strange. Almost like he was about to be sick, a sharp buzz all throughout his system with seemingly no outlet. His throat felt tight and there was an odd hollowness in the pit of his stomach.

"You sure you're alright? Looking a little green. You getting sick again?" Bull frowned in concern.

"I... I'm not sure. Maybe. Better go." Cullen laced his boots lightning quick, no longer able to look at Bull. The tickling in his sinuses told the tale - he wasn't about to be sick. He was about to lose every ounce of control and cry like a fucking child. And that was unacceptable.

"Wow, uh. Okay. Hey, you need help?" Bull swung his legs down to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching out towards him.

"No! I - no. I'm good. Fine. I'll see you around, Bull." Without waiting for a response, Cullen turned and fled back to his tower.

He did not run, but his stride was quick and purposeful. He made it back to the tower, the moisture seeping from his eyelids as he scampered up the ladder, heedless of the ache in his backside. The tears were as surprising as they were relentless. He was crying, _weeping,_ for fuck’s sake. It was ridiculous.

Dashing the tears and snot away with the back of his hand, Cullen swore at himself. “Pull yourself the fuck together. Andraste’s ass, you are such a fool.”

A few deep breaths and he was back in control. He continued to castigate himself as he clambered into his bed, not bothering to undress. Usually he would stoke the braziers about an hour before retiring, using that time to catch up on paperwork. Tonight, he’d made no such preparations, and his room was frigid. 

Now that the moment of weakness had passed, Cullen had little choice but to admit it to himself. He’d become too attached. Perhaps it had something to do with the nature of the sex. It was, after all, rather a step up from the hurried, bland, utilitarian encounters he’d had in the past. Whatever the reason, the feelings were unacceptable. Bull did not share them, for one, and even if he did  --  _ He doesn’t, Rutherford. End of story. _

The only question remained of what to do about it. Simpler and easier to just break things off. But why should he give up everything? He’d finally gotten a taste of what he’d always wanted, and Maker, he wanted so much more. Surely, he could set his feelings aside? Perhaps they would fade, once he was more accustomed to the arrangement? Yes. That was probable. Cullen didn’t have much experience with infatuation, and almost none with relationships, but it seemed possible, at least. 

The longer he lay in his cold bed, the easier it was to convince himself that his feelings were just infatuation, a side effect of the intensity of the encounter. It would wear off. It had to. He could do this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Jack," you're thinking to yourself. "Jack, can you please just write one damn smut chapter without throwing in all the feels? Huh? Can you, huh?"
> 
> _No._


	14. Face to the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's not so good with "casual".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from You've Got to Hide Your Love Away. In case you'd like a Lennon soundtrack to go with your angst.

The next morning was not easy for Cullen. He'd only managed to doze a few hours the night before, shivering fitfully under his ragged blankets. His body might've been racked with cold, but there was a hot lump of dejection throbbing in his chest. Once he'd admitted that his affection for Bull was, well, rather more than the fondness accorded casual lovers, his mind had gone into overdrive. His memory conjured every moment when Bull had made it clear that, in public, they were nothing but casual friends. The way Bull called him by his title -- even his body language screamed “friendly colleague”. If Bull did flirt in public, he masked it by showing interest in everyone, or touching Cullen where no one else could see. And how many times had Bull frowned at him when Cullen insisted he didn't care if people knew? That one was easy - every time. With that backdrop, the instances of tenderness which seemed to bloom and fade when they were alone were clearly Bull humoring Cullen. It only made sense. 

Well. If Bull wanted casual, Cullen could act casual. He choked down the now-cold mug of bitter tea on his desk, forcing himself to concentrate on work. Troop rotations needed review, and Rylen was waiting for him to approve armor requisitions. 

Cullen had just begun to get his mind clear and focused when there was a rap on the door leading from the main hall. Maker, was he to get nothing accomplished today? Growling in frustration, he snapped. "What?"

The Inquisitor poked her head around the door. "Am I interrupting?"

Cullen slumped in embarrassment. "Inquisitor. No, of course not - please, come in. What can I do for you?" He rolled his shoulders, attempting at least the semblance of respectful posture. They hadn't spoken one-on-one since their disastrous conversation a week ago. 

Miranda closed the door behind her. "Leliana has arranged for specialized combat training for me. I wanted to get your opinion before I choose."

Blinking in surprise, Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh. Ah... well, I'm not terribly familiar with those... particular styles of fighting."

Miranda laughed easily. "You didn't use the word scoundrel or rogue. I'm impressed." She took a seat.

Cullen sat as well, scooting his chair up to the desk. "Josephine's diplomacy has a way of rubbing off on a person, I suppose."

They spent a quarter-hour chatting over tactics, whether the skills of assassin or artificer or tempest would serve her better against Red Templars. There was no awkwardness, thank the Maker. That was the last thing he needed this morning.

"Well," Miranda said, pushing herself up from the chair. "I'll take that under advisement. Frankly I can't see myself smashing bottles of Goo-That-Makes-Fire over my head. I've seen Sera do it, and...." She grimaced and shuddered.

"If you were dead set on it, you know I would support you, but I'm glad to hear you're not leaning in that direction." Cullen chuckled. 

There was a pause as the conversation naturally shifted. "Commander," Miranda said then. "I want to apologize. I shouldn't have put you in that position last week. Looking back, I see I was misinterpreting things." She smiled ruefully. "Wishful thinking,  I suppose. Anyway. I didn't realize you were involved with someone, and -"

"What? How did you - ?" Panic caused Cullen to interrupt her.

She laughed, a short, knowing  _ ha! _ "So you  _ are _ with someone! Dorian has been insisting, but I didn't believe him." The triumph on her face melted to disappointment. "Wait, I think this means I owe him a drink. Damn."

"What?" Cullen's brain could not handle any of this, the least of which being the Inquisitor making bets on his personal life.

A cunning look stole over Miranda's face. "I don't suppose you'll tell me who it is, will you? I mean, I know it's none of my business, but I think you'll agree that taking Dorian down a peg is a good cause?" She lobbed a toothy, far-too-innocent grin at him.

Under the weight of her charm, Cullen found himself laughing. "I do, in fact agree that is an excellent cause -" 

Miranda's face lit up. 

"-However, I'm afraid that, uh, the, er, secrecy isn't - isn't exactly my choice." The words were surprisingly hard to say. Cullen cleared his throat.

The instant of sympathy that flashed across Miranda's face was almost his undoing. But then it was gone, mischief once again having taken the reins. "Well, that doesn't sound fair. That just means I'll have to try extra hard to find out. No one keeps my favorite Commander under a bushel basket." She winked. "I'll ask Bull. He's always looking for reasons to give it to Dorian."

It felt as though Cullen's throat had swollen shut. "I'm sure he is," he squeaked. 

Miranda didn't seem to notice. "All right. I'll let you get back to your reports. Thank you for your time, Commander.”

Cullen was still blinking stupidly when a knock came on the opposite door, the one favored by his runners. Back to work, then. “Enter,” Cullen barked automatically, letting his attention fall back to his desk. 

“Hey.”

Cullen froze at the sound of the familiar voice, his line of sight still riveted on the parchment on his desk. He took a slow breath before raising his head. “Good morning, Bull.”

“Bad time?”

Perhaps another deep breath was in order. Cullen straightened his shoulders. “I have a few minutes. What can I do for you?”

Bull raised his eyebrows. “Came to check on you. I was worried.”

“I’m much better this morning, thank you.” When in doubt, fall back on formality. 

“I’m not asking you to fill out a report, Commander.” Bull folded his arms.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Cullen sighed. “My apologies. It’s... already been a trying morning.”

“You look tired. You didn’t sleep.” Bull frowned. 

“Is that a problem?”

Bull shrugged. “Not really. It’s just that it’s pretty taxing. Most people kinda pass out after.”

_ I would have too, had I been able to sleep with you. _ The thought was unwelcome, and Cullen flinched. 

Bull’s concerned frown deepened. “We don’t have to do it again.”

“It’s not that, believe me.” 

Bull’s sigh of frustration was almost a growl. For a heartstopping moment Cullen feared Bull might press him on his reticence. Although Cullen had resolved to keep his feelings separate, a bit of time to stabilize his emotions would strengthen the facade.

But Bull simply shook his horns. “Do you want to do it again, Cullen?” It was as if he was wrenching the words from within himself, or translating them from another language. 

“I - yes. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make this more difficult,” Cullen said.

“You’re not. Problem is -” Bull stopped himself short. He laughed, a short sound devoid of humor. “I’ll tell you later. You’re trying to work, and I’m bugging you.”

“I do, in fact, have some reports to go through before lunch.” Cullen was relieved for the respite from the conversation. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then. You wanna go again tonight, or you need a break?”

“Oh. Er.” Cullen hadn’t actually thought about it. His mind, of course, chose that moment to utterly stop working. “Is there... um... a reason to wait? Or not wait?”

“Well if you need time to recoup. Physically. ‘Course I wasn’t planning on - shit. Look, why don’t you stop by tonight and we’ll go from there. Uh - unless you have other plans, of course.” Bull hastily tacked on the proviso at the end.

Cullen snorted. “I rather thought you were the one with the full dance card, not me.”  _ Dammit, Rutherford, why don’t you learn to keep your mouth shut?  _ “Tonight is fine.”

Bull nodded, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. “See you then.”

It was easy to stay distracted for the rest of the day. Not as if he didn’t have plenty to do, after all. The constant attention to his work allowed the things Bull had left unsaid to burrow under the surface of his consciousness like weevils. A buzzing hum, murmuring to him that he had made a mistake, that he was making things worse. It was close enough to lyrium withdrawal that he merely pushed it aside. 

Once again, he knocked on Bull’s door at eight bells. This time, the anticipation had a sour tinge, like milk about to turn. When the door opened, Bull’s smile crumpled almost immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“What - nothing - I -” Cullen stammered. The buzzing hum grew louder, and too late, he recognized it. A sick feeling oozed in his stomach: he’d felt this in Kirkwall, when he was following Meredith’s orders near the end, knowing it was wrong, but unable to step from the path he’d begun to follow. Only this time, the orders were his own.  _ Keep it casual. It’s just sex. Maker, pull yourself together. You can do this.  _

Bull’s face was a blank mask. His eye was narrowed as he watched Cullen. Calmly, he guided him inside and closed the door. Spinning Cullen around, Bull put his hands on his shoulders. “Cullen. I’m not an idiot. I know something’s wrong.” 

A welter of reactions all pressed in Cullen at once, demanding to be given the floor. What came out was a strained laugh. “You’re right. I thought... Maker, what am I even doing?” Cullen hung his head. “I’m terrible at this, Bull. I’m sorry. I’m sure there are people more worthy of your time. I’ll let you be.” 

Cullen tried to pull away from Bull’s hands. There was an instant when the grip tightened, but then the Qunari let go. “Not gonna keep you here. But if you want to know what  _ I _ want: I want you to stay.”

“What - but -  _ why?” _ Cullen ran both hands through his hair, tugging it slightly in frustration. He wandered a few paces away, turning his back. 

“Cullen. Come here.” 

Without thinking about it, Cullen turned and stepped over to him, his mind still roiling.

“Look at me.”

The words snapped through the air, breaking Cullen's reverie. He looked up, startled.

Bull’s face was still expressionless, though a nerve in his jaw was twitching. He cupped Cullen's cheeks with both hands. “I want you because....” He blinked rapidly. It wasn’t often Bull was at a loss for words. He growled briefly and started again. “I want  _ you, _ pretty one. Does it matter why?”

In Kirkwall, Cullen had once had the occasion to visit the Viscount’s personal gardens. There was a small koi pond in the center, stocked with beautiful golden fish that swirled lazily through the water. That is, until the Viscount tossed a few handfuls of food into the pool. The fish had gone berserk, the water seeming to boil as they scrabbled for the meal. 

The emotions Cullen had spent all day tamping down were now leaping at Bull’s words, desperate to clutch them, eager as hungry fish. He knew Bull could feel him trembling.  _ Breathe calmly. He doesn’t mean it like that. It all stays in this room.  _

Needing a deflection, Cullen spoke. “What were you going to tell me? This morning. You said there was a problem.”

Bull tilted his head, going back over their earlier conversation. He laughed. “Not exactly a problem. You’re so good at some things it’s easy to forget you’re still learning.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t what he’d been expecting to hear. Cullen was simultaneously gratified by the praise and disappointed at the lack of an excuse to leave. 

“Was gonna teach you a bit about how to obey, but I’m not sure you need it,” Bull continued, now sliding his hands through Cullen's hair. “It’s so beautiful, the way you react to me, knowing you’re obeying me without being told.” 

Now the hands worked at the knots in the muscles of Cullen's neck, and he moaned very quietly. Bull continued to speak, his voice slipping around Cullen like a blanket. 

“So eager to please, so polite, so grateful. Beautiful. It’s like a gift. A gift I -” Bull’s voice trailed off. 

Cullen's eyes opened - when had he shut them? He didn’t remember. But they were open, now, looking up at Bull. If his feelings were thrashing in the water before, now they drowned, seeing the need on Bull’s face. 

Bull’s breath was coming a bit too quickly. “Damn. Look at you, my pretty one. Gonna kiss you now. That okay? Just a kiss.”

Cullen opened his mouth to answer, but he only managed a small, wordless whimper. He tried again. “Please?”

“Oh, fuck,” Bull grunted, leaning down. It was hungry, this kiss, Bull unable to settle between kissing and licking and biting, seeming to want to do everything at once. HIs hands roved as well, smoothing across Cullen's back and gripping his shoulders and carding through his hair.

And then he was pulling away. “Shit. Shit, I shouldn’t - Cullen, look at me.”

_ You did something wrong. He knows. You ruined it.  _ Cullen looked up at Bull. “I-I’m sorry - I didn’t - I -”

Bull winced. “Shit,” he swore again. “Cullen. It’s alright. You’re fine, you’re good. More than good.” He enfolded Cullen in a near-stifling hug.

The combination of near-panic and warm praise was too much. He’d barely been holding it together to start. “Please don’t make me leave,” Cullen whimpered the plea into Bull’s shoulder. 

Bull froze, his muscles stiffening. “What?”

_ You fucking weak fool. Absolutely pathetic. Couldn’t even make it a day without blurting something out.  _ “Nothing. I apologize. I... I should go.”

Unlike before, Bull made no move to let go. “You think I’m gonna  _ make _ you leave?”

Cullen squirmed. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s fine, Bull. I know you don’t... Just - let me go, we can forget all about this. I thought I could - I thought.... Doesn’t matter. I was wrong. Please, Bull. Let me go.”

Bull was taking shaky breaths, still holding Cullen. The exhales were rhythmic, a shadowed litany of  _ no.  _

Cullen was suddenly exhausted. He wanted to leave. “Bull. Please.” When there was no change in response, Cullen reached for the word. “Phylactery.”

It might as well have been a spell. Bull immediately dropped his arms and took three steps back. He looked hurt - not just mildly put out, but on the verge of despair. 

It was so surprising that Cullen simply stared for a moment. Then Bull opened his mouth to say something, and Cullen simply fled, stumbling out of the door. 

Once out on the battlements, he realized that he was in no state to return to his office. It was still early, and the walls were crawling with people. Possibly not the best time to walk around as a shaky, weak mess. He turned, looking over the outside wall, clutching at the stone, dragging breaths into his body. He was still near enough that he heard the sounds coming from Bull’s room. A strangled, growling howl of... anger, perhaps? Then a crash that shook the dust from the thatch on the roof. Definitely anger, then. And then, quieter, the sound of Qunlat. Cullen couldn’t recognize the words, but the rhythm and tone was unmistakable. Bull was praying, or whatever passed as prayer among the Qun. 

The first two sounds were easy to attribute - Cullen had apparently pissed Bull off, rather beyond the pale. The third made less sense. Perhaps it was simply Bull’s way of trying to calm himself, the way Cullen sometimes repeated the Chant. Regardless, the overall implication was clear enough to Cullen. No small wonder Bull was angry. It was unfair of him to have even gone to Bull’s quarters - he could see that now. And then to lead him on, to let Bull think he would - Cullen couldn’t bring himself to think about what they were going to do. He still thrummed with need himself. And then for Cullen to throw cold water on it all? 

No. That was unforgivable. Of course Bull would be angry. Clearly, Cullen had ruined things. It was over, it must be. Perhaps it was for the best. 

Of course that didn’t stop some part of Cullen from hoping there might be something to salvage. Over the next two days, he found himself looking for excuses to run into Bull, to apologize. Dozens of times, Cullen reined in this tiny voice. But it took Dorian to squash it altogether. 

They were playing chess. It was, in all respects, a beautiful day. Warm, sunny. No ancient darkspawn magisters flying overhead on dragons. About as good a day as Skyhold could manage.

“So. Miranda tells me you’ve spilled the beans. Well.  _ A  _ bean, anyway. So. Tell me all about this delicious lover of yours.” Dorian drawled, a naughty gleam in his eye.

Cullen sighed. “Did she already buy you a drink? Because I’m afraid it’s no longer true.” 

“Mmmm,” Dorian hummed skeptically. “That’s what Bull said as well. Shame. I thought he might be mistaken.”

“What?” Cullen's guts felt as if they were encased in ice.

“Well I couldn’t go on just Miranda’s word, could I? A drink was at stake.” Dorian raised an eyebrow and grinned. “So I asked our resident Ben-Hassrath.”

“What... did he say? Exactly?” Cullen tried to keep the tremor out of his voice.

“Concerned about the rumor mill, are you? No fear. He said you had been involved with someone, and that he knew who it was, and he wouldn’t say who, blasted Qunari,” Dorian grumbled. He chewed his bottom lip and surveyed the chess board. “Aha!” Triumphant, Dorian shifted his castle.

Cullen hardly glanced down before countering with his rook. “And? Is that all?”  _ Maker’s breath, you moron, shut up.  _

“Well why don’t you ask him yourself?” Dorian huffed, now frowning at the board. “He didn’t seem to think very highly of your taste though. Got very growly about it. Which is funny, him talking about having taste, considering how voracious he is himself.” Tentatively, he slid a bishop a few tiles, leaving his fingers on the piece as he considered. “Between you and me, I’ve half a mind to take him up on his offer.”

There was no mistaking it now: everything between Cullen's chin and knees was completely frozen, a cold so intense it seemed to burn. “Oh?”

Dorian's eyes flashed up. “Don’t tell me you’re squeamish about the Qunari.”

“What? No, of course not. I just - well, you’re one to talk.” Cullen frowned, leaning forward to look at the board. He’d never been so glad that Dorian was a Tevinter before. It was the perfect way to shift the conversation. 

“Mmm, I know - it’s so decadently forbidden. As Bull continues to point out. Though, one does have a reputation to maintain.” Dorian leaned back extravagantly, crossing his legs just so.

“And sleeping with Bull would sully one’s reputation, is that it?” The ice was rapidly engulfing whatever was left of Cullen. His fingertips even felt cold.

“Well, not  _ per se,” _ Dorian clarified. “It’s just... well. As tempting as it would be to succumb to the charms of a huge warrior, in all his strength and virility, there are, perhaps, others with such qualities, though none in such great measure, of course. Still, one would gladly trade some of that excess strength for a modicum of manners and etiquette. Balance in all things, wouldn’t you say?” 

Cullen frowned at the tiles. He glanced up at Dorian through his lashes. The mage had his head tilted, an eyebrow raised artfully, and a devastating smirk. By Andraste, Dorian was talking about  _ him. _ And this wasn’t the mage’s normal flirtation; this was an overture.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen sighed, shoving a pawn. 

Dorian's answering snicker was throaty and filthy in all the right ways. Like an untrained mabari, Cullen's body suddenly picked up this new scent and began to take interest. He shifted his hips, and Dorian's laugh became a hum of interest.

“Commander.” A runner trotted up. “The Inquisitor requests your presence in the War Room in one quarter of an hour.”

It was all Cullen could do not to thank the Maker out loud. “Acknowledged,” he nodded. Tugging his robes straight, he rose.

“Oh, and things were just getting  _ interesting, _ wouldn’t you say?” Dorian smiled up at him blandly. “You should join me for a drink tonight. Since you’re free.”

The polite refusal came automatically to Cullen's lips, but then he paused. Why shouldn’t he? He was, in fact, free. And now that he’d noticed, Dorian was, in fact, incredibly attractive. Wasn’t that a thing that people did? Chase out the ghosts with someone new? The center of his stomach began to grow warm, though it didn’t feel as wholesome as he would like.

“Perhaps I will. No promises,” Cullen said, when the grin broke out on Dorian's face. 

“Of course not.” Dorian replied. “I’ll see you later.”

“A bit overconfident, aren’t you?” Cullen rose to his full height, rolling his shoulders. 

“If it pleases you to think so,” Dorian said, his voice mild and his smile a parody of innocence, contrasting the glint in his eyes. 

Cullen shook his head and strode away, the sound of Dorian's throaty laughter chasing after him.

 


	15. Demands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Qun want an alliance, for reasons of their own.

Though he would, perhaps, prefer the Maker to send his blessings in rather larger packages, Cullen nonetheless gave a silent prayer of thanks as he approached the door to the War Room. Because it was open the merest crack, and that crack was enough to allow him to hear the silken bass of Bull’s voice before he entered. This, in turn, allowed Cullen a moment to compose his face and calm his pulse before blundering into the council.

Thus armed for bear, Cullen was able to sweep his eyes blandly over Bull’s face without meeting the Qunari’s gaze. “I apologize for keeping you all waiting,” he said. 

“You’re right on time, in fact,” Miranda said, beckoning him over. “We’ve got a situation. Bull, fill him in, won’t you?”

“Sure, boss.” Bull started to speak, his arms folded across his chest. It was something to do with the Qunari offering an alliance. 

It was startling enough that Cullen actually made brief eye contact with Bull. “The Qun... want to  _ ally  _ themselves? With the Inquisition?” Cullen squinted in confusion at Leliana, looking for confirmation.

She nodded, her face deadly serious. “I fear it is some sort of trap, but I cannot guess as to their motive.”

“Will no one even consider that the offer might be genuine?” Josephine fretted.

Cullen laughed hollowly. “No offence, Madam Ambassador, but I spent more time than anyone living with the Qun on my doorstep. They don’t make the best bedfellows, I’m afraid.” As soon as the words left his lips, Cullen realized what he’d said. He could  _ feel _ Bull staring at him. It took every ounce of control he had not to snap his attention to that gaze. Instead, he waited a beat, cocked his head, and looked at Bull, desperately hoping he was achieving the wry smile he aimed for. “No offense intended.”

With a frown, Bull unfolded his arms, dropping his attention to the map. “None taken.” 

“I agree,” Leliana said. “My experience with the Qun is limited, but I did travel with the current Arishok ten years ago. I would be very surprised to find he would offer alliance, rather than conquest. Which is what worries me. Subterfuge is not his way.”

Bull growled and shook his head. “Not up to him,” he said. “The Arishok leads the army - he doesn’t necessarily set policy. This feels like....” With a heavy sigh, he muttered a few words in Qunlat to himself. “There’s more at play here than just the Arishok. This is Ben-Hassrath. This is the Ariqun.”

“What happens if we ignore it? Just refuse to answer?” Miranda said. 

“Inquisitor! That is  _ most _ devious of you,” Josephine chided. “I highly approve.”

“Every move you make, even inaction, will be scrutinized and dissected by the Qun.” Bull was still staring at the map. “They’ll see right through it. You can’t hide from them. No one can hide from the Qun.”

Miranda shrugged. “Well, never hurts to put it out there.”

Cullen began to notice that Bull’s hands were clenched rather hard against the edge of the table, and he still perused the map carefully, as if studying it. Strange, since they weren’t really talking about location yet. It occurred to the Commander: Bull was worried.

But about what? It made no sense. By all rights, the Qunari should have been, if not happy, at least neutral about the concept. Cullen glanced at Leliana, raising his eyebrows.

She nodded imperceptibly. “Iron Bull, I assume you approve of this overture?”

Bull didn’t answer right away. He took a deep breath and straightened, once again folding his arms. “I’m a little surprised. But I’ve been gone a long time. Maybe things have changed. Maybe....” He looked up, as if suddenly realizing where he was. “Sorry, just got a little wrapped up in my own head. Yeah.Iit’s in the Inquisition’s best interest to go meet on the Storm Coast. You definitely do not want red lyrium getting out of control in the North. You’ve seen what a red Templar behemoth is like. Imagine me that way. Or worse, a saarebas. Shit.” He shook his head. “My advice is to go.”

“Thank you, Bull. That’ll be all.”

Bull nodded and walked out. He passed close by Cullen, almost brushing against him. Cullen swallowed hard against the smell of horn balm and leather. 

“Well?” Miranda said, once the door was firmly shut.

“He’s worried,” Cullen said at once. Maker, would he never learn to keep his mouth shut? 

Luckily, Leliana stepped in immediately, covering any awkwardness. “I agree.”

“I don’t understand. Why should he be worried?” Josephine frowned. “He  _ has _ been fulfilling his obligation to the Qun, hasn’t he?”

“As far as we know,” Leliana pointed out. “We have only his word regarding the terms of this peculiar arrangement.”

“You don’t think he’s working  _ against _ us, surely?” Miranda scoffed.

Leliana chewed the inside of her lip. “I will say this. If I suspected one of my agents of betrayal, I would create an assignment like this. Unless I am very wrong, Bull will have no choice but to reveal his true loyalties.”

Silence fell over the war room as they all considered what that might mean. After a moment, Miranda clucked her tongue. “Well. I hope it’s with us. We’d better bring a team that's willing to do what we need to if he turns on us.”

Cullen's blood ran cold. “What?”

The women looked at him in surprise. “Is there a problem, Commander?” Leliana asked.

“No, I - are we really discussing how the Inquisitor might have to....” 

“Do I detect sentimentality, Commander?” Leliana’s voice had a hint of amusement to it. “I assure you, every spy worth their salt is capable of hiding their true intentions.”

Miranda sighed heavily. “Cole - he’ll know one way or another. And Solas. He’s no fan of the Qun. And... Cassandra, I suppose. She’s pretty ruthless.” She shook her head. “I’m not looking forward to this mission. We’ll leave in the morning. I’ll let the others know.”

Mind reeling, Cullen managed to muddle his way through the rest of the council. A steady drumbeat of anxiety thudded just beneath his consciousness. There was a distinct possibility that Bull might die, not in battle with their enemies, but by the hand of the Inquisition. He’d never even considered that. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to run to Bull, to warn him of the impending threat. 

Cullen did nothing of the sort, of course. He did, however, go to the Chapel. It was almost unbelievable, that he would be so concerned for someone that he couldn’t even be sure was loyal to the Herald. It was dangerous. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to be in this position. His feelings had made him vulnerable. 

The Chant held little in the way of comfort. Cullen spoke the words, but they rang hollow. After a while, he simply gave up, and gazed up at the flame in the hands of Andraste, not really seeing it. 

The tolling of the evening bell roused him. He should get some dinner. And there was still the question of Dorian's invitation. 

The meal was simple to procure. A decision regarding the drink was rather more complicated. But surely, given that Bull’s loyalty was in question on top of everything else, it made sense to move on? Bull had made mention of meeting with the Chargers in preparation of the mission, so perhaps the tavern would be less crowded than normal.

There was also the matter of not wanting to stew in his own juices all evening. After eating, Cullen headed to the Herald’s Rest. 

It was still early, and the tavern was quiet. Cullen ordered an ale at the bar. Bull was not in his normal chair behind the stairs, but Krem was in his corner. He nodded at Cullen, so the Commander made his way over.

“Hello Lieutenant. Not with the Chargers?” Cullen asked politely, taking a sip of his beer.

“Nah,” Krem shrugged. “Chief knows I don’t need a lot of prep. We’ve been together a long time. Plus, between you and me, this looks to be a tough mission for him. Sometimes it’s harder, having someone close looking over your shoulder.”

Cullen nodded noncommittally. He certainly agreed with the sentiment. “Any thoughts on the mission?”

Krem took a deep drink from his wine bottle, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Smells bad. But what can you do? We’ve got the Chief’s back, no matter what. We’ll follow him anywhere. Most of us owe him our lives, at the very least. And even if we didn’t, we’d still follow him.”

There was a clenching feeling in Cullen's gut, to hear such devotion. “That’s an admirable sentiment.”

Shrugging, Krem regarded his half-empty bottle. “Bull’s a good man. One of the best.” The words held a hint of challenge.

Cullen looked out over the tavern, weighing his response. For all that Bull apparently wanted to keep things secret, it wasn’t surprising his second-in-command might suss out the truth. Not that it mattered much now. It was over and done. Still, what good would it do, to expose what Bull preferred to keep hidden? 

“Well, we agree on that much,” Cullen said mildly, contemplating his ale.

A trace of a frown creased Krem’s forehead. “Between you and me, Commander, he’s upset about more than the mission.”

Casting his gaze up at the ceiling, Cullen sucked his teeth. Anger flashed through him. How  _ dare  _ this lieutenant throw Cullen's behavior back in his face like this? It was utterly, wildly inappropriate. Yet even his pique couldn’t mask the clench of disappointment at himself. Had he’d angered Bull so badly that the man couldn’t even keep it from his own troops? “Well perhaps he should be more choosy in who he consorts with. Maybe the next one won’t be so utterly disappointing. If you’ll excuse me.”

“What? Wait!” Krem caught him by the arm. “You’ve - kaffas - you’ve got it wrong.”

Now genuinely angry, Cullen glared at the man’s hand. “Let. Go.” 

Flushing, Krem dropped his grip. “Sorry. Look, it’s none of my business. But I’ve never seen the Chief like this before. And with the Qun shit -” Krem gave a grunt of frustration. “He’s not upset with -” Krem looked around them, judging who was in hearing distance. “- this person. He’s angry at himself.”

Startled, Cullen forgot he was supposed to be acting disinterested, and instead stared at Krem in disbelief. “You’re wrong.” Despite his words, hope began to bubble in his stomach, though it curdled with Cullen's firm conviction that things were over. He felt ill.

Krem huffed a laugh. “Afraid not, Commander.” He cocked his head. “You really thought he was angry with you.” He sounded surprised.

“This is highly inappropriate. Excuse me.” This time Cullen strode away before Krem had a chance to catch him.

Dorian walked in just then. “Commander! How utterly delightful to meet you here.” 

Maker’s breath. Cullen had almost forgotten that Dorian was the reason he’d come out at all. He’d never hear the end of it if he made an excuse to leave without having at least one drink, however. “Hello, Dorian.”

The mage’s eyes glittered, though his grin was innocent. “Shall we have a drink, then?”

Maker, but the Tevinter’s charm was almost magnetic. They took seats at a table on the second floor, ignoring Krem’s frown of disapproval. Cullen's stomach churned. This was a mistake. Despite Dorian's obvious charms, Cullen was in no state to pursue anything with the mage. 

A barmaid took their order and left them alone. And they were, indeed, very alone. The second floor was all but deserted at this hour. “Well, isn’t this cozy,” Dorian cooed.

“Quite.” Cullen wished his voice wasn’t such a squawk. It was embarrassing. He rubbed the back of his neck and avoided Dorian's gaze. 

The smile slid off Dorian's face. “Vishante kaffas, man, you look like you swallowed a jar of Sera’s bees.”

“I... may not be good company, I’m afraid,” Cullen coughed nervously. 

The concern on Dorian's face solidified into sympathy. He sighed and leaned back. “Alright. Out with it. You’ll feel better, believe me.”

“Excuse me?”

Dorian snorted, handing a coin to the barmaid as she dropped off their drinks. “Heartbreak. I recognize it all too well. Seen it too many times to count.”

“Have you?” Cullen's voice oozed skepticism.

“Of course. I do own a mirror, you know.” Dorian's voice was matter-of-fact.

Cullen glanced at him guiltily. “Sorry.”

Dorian shrugged, waving his apology aside. “A man as handsome and charming as myself can’t help but pick up a few battle scars.”

Cullen sipped his beer. “I can’t really talk about it, I’m afraid.”

“Psh. You southerners. You want to talk secrets, visit Tevinter sometime.” Dorian frowned, tracing the rim of his mug with this forefinger.

Cullen had, of course, read the Inquisitor’s report of meeting Dorian's father in Redcliffe. Even the bloodless nature of the memorandum couldn’t completely obfuscate the nature of the mage’s disagreement with his father. “Well, I’ve insulted your compassion and your life experience. What else can I belittle?” Cullen asked. 

Dorian grinned. “Well my appearance is above reproach, naturally.” 

“Naturally,” Cullen smiled back, raising his drink in toast.

Dorian clunked their tankards together. “Well, I had hoped the evening would end with a notch in my bedpost. But I have to say, this Inquisition has done wonders for making me appreciate how satisfying having friends can be.”

Cullen spluttered his ale at the mage’s confession. “I’m not sure if I should thank you for the compliment or apologize for the disappointment.”

“Well don’t apologize yet, Commander,” Dorian drawled. “The night is still young.” He winked impishly as he sipped his ale, then set his tankard down firmly. “Now. Secrets be damned. What happened? I demand to know if I need to brush up on my blood magic. Ever so good for curses, you know.”

Sighing, Cullen cradled his mug of beer in both hands. “I have no idea,” he said simply. “Something went wrong. I don’t know what. I thought it was me, but perhaps....” Cullen scraped a fingernail against a seam in the wood tabletop. “No, it was probably me.”

“I have a hard time picturing what someone as considerate and thoughtful as you could do wrong.” Dorian's voice was gentle, though there was a steel spine behind the words, directed at Cullen's lover.

“You don’t know me very well,” Cullen pointed out. 

“Well, did you ask her? Or... him? Them?” Dorian laughed as he threw the pronouns out one by one. “This would be a bit easier if you told me who we’re talking about. I can, in fact, keep a secret.”

The mention of secrecy sent a shot of anxiety through Cullen, followed quickly by that hot despondency that was now so familiar. He shook his head.

“Is it because you’ll face repercussions? Not one of your troops or anything like that, is it?” Dorian frowned, not in disapproval, but in concern.

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s just...not in so many words, mind you, but it’s been made clear to me that... we’re not to act as anything but colleagues. Outside of the bedroom.” Cullen felt his face flush. When Dorian didn’t say anything, Cullen looked up.

The naked sympathy on the mage’s face was almost too much to bear. But then Dorian's jaw clenched. “I see. I thought perhaps your reticence was some sort of Ferelden thing. I’m not well pleased to find that someone expects you to be their dirty little secret.”

Cullen flinched. Somehow the mage had put words to that toxic mix of hopelessness and shame that he’d been afraid to name. Naming it meant that Cullen had to acknowledge it was wrong. Which meant he wasn’t allowed to want Bull any longer. Because what kind of pathetic weakling puts up with such treatment?

_ You do. You still fucking want him, and if you had an ounce of strength you’d never have let this happen in the first place. _

Hastily, Cullen swiped the tankard from the table and drank, trying to mask his reaction. Dorian looked away, pretending to be engrossed with something out of the window, giving Cullen some space. “Bull was right. You do deserve better.”

“What?” Cullen blurted the word out. “He - he said that?” Maker, had Krem been telling him the truth? Was it really possible?

Dorian blinked in mild surprise. “Yes. As I said, he didn’t seem to think much of your taste.”

There was a commotion downstairs. A large crowd had evidently turned up. The sound of Bull’s voice boomed out. “Krem de la Krem! How’s my favorite ‘Vint?”

Cullen's head jerked towards the stairs, and he froze. He suddenly realized he was trapped. If Bull came up the steps... Maker, why hadn’t he insisted on a different table when he had the chance? 

Dorian's eyes had narrowed and he looked at Cullen with one eyebrow raised. Not that Cullen noticed; the Commander’s attention was on the muffled voices of Krem and Bull. The sound of a heavy footfall on the stairs had Cullen scraping his chair back involuntarily preparing to - what? Run? Like the pathetic fool that he was? He forced a few calming breaths and clenched his jaw. He settled himself into his chair, staring resolutely face front.

Cullen's back was to the steps, but Dorian's expression told him everything he needed to know. Not that Cullen would easily mistake the familiar sound of Bull’s footsteps, the characteristic clank of the brace every other step.

Dorian rose, both hands on the table, staring over Cullen's shoulder. Bull walked up to them, slowly setting three fresh tankards down. 

“Iron Bull.” Dorian drawled. Cullen looked up at the mage; there was a dangerous tint to those words. Without warning, he slapped the Qunari right in the face.

“Fuck you and your secrets,” Dorian hissed, jabbing a finger into Bull’s chest. He put a hand on Cullen's shoulder, squeezed once, and pushed past the mercenary, striding down the steps.

With a heavy sigh, Bull sank into the chair opposite Cullen. “Deserved that,” he muttered. “And a dozen more like it.”

“I didn’t tell him,” Cullen blurted out. “Bull, I know it’s over but - I didn’t tell.” Even as he said the words, he felt the bile at the back of his throat. Maker, he was pathetic. 

Bull winced. “Ebost vashedan bas,” he growled to himself, wiping his face with his hands. “Cullen. Stop.”

Chastised, Cullen fell silent.

“Cullen. I... shit, I fucked this up so badly. I’m such a fucking asshole.” Bull hung his head. “Never meant... argh. It wasn’t supposed to be a secret. Thought I was helping you.” He grabbed one of the tankards and drained half the liquid in one swallow. “Thought I was giving you an out, pretty one. Never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

The words were simple and brooked no possibility for misunderstanding. Still, Cullen found his brain was balked at comprehension. His mind still gripped so tightly at need to keep their public and private relationships separate that he couldn’t grasp this new idea. “You’re not angry at me?”

“Fuck, no, Cullen, of course not,” Bull grimaced. 

“But - I heard you. After I -” Cullen stopped himself. “After I left.”

“You heard me get angry at  _ myself _ , for pushing you too hard. You wanted to go, and I wasn’t  _ listening _ , I was so worried I’d lose you. And then I did, and I deserved it. Shit. Not sure I ever deserved you in the first place.” Bull scratched at his head where horn met scalp. 

The emotions jangled through Cullen, cacophonous. He couldn’t begin to tease one from another. Suddenly conscious that he was staring like a bumpkin, he busied his hands with dragging the fresh ale to himself, bending his arm, taking a sip. 

“Look, if -  _ when _ I get back,” Bull said, “Just... whatever you need. I can make myself scarce, I can pretend it never happened, or you wanna lock me in the tower and rage at me all day, get it out of your system. I fucked this up so bad, thinking I knew best.”

The discord surging through Cullen's brain snagged on the “if” that Bull had tried to cover up. The mission. This might be the last time Cullen saw Bull. The realization slammed into him. Maker, and Cullen couldn’t even warn him that he was under suspicion. 

Cullen stared at Bull, horror in his eyes. Slowly, the rest of the words Bull had said seeped into his consciousness. “You think - you think I don’t want to see you.”

“After the shit I pulled?” Bull gave a humorless laugh. “Uh, yeah.”

Things began to unspool rapidly. The need to keep the fact that Bull was under suspicion was the straw that broke Cullen's back. There were only so many secrets he could handle, apparently. “I thought you were mad at me. I thought y-you didn’t want me to get too attached, and then I did and - Maker, I tried to hide it but I thought you could tell and -- I know I’m not the only one and that -- well, you’d end it if you knew how I felt....” The words tumbled from Cullen's lips. 

“Fuck,” Bull breathed, kneading his temple with thumb and forefinger. He reached across the table and gently pulled Cullen's hand away from the handle of the tankard, wrapping his fingers around Cullen. “Beautiful one. I was never, ever mad at you. I never wanted this to be a secret. And much as I wanna carry you up those stairs and show you how special you are, we both know that has to wait.” 

_ He knows. He knows we suspect him. Of  _ **_course_ ** _ he does. _ Cullen nodded. “I should - I should go,” he said quietly, making no move to pull his hand from Bull’s grip. 

“Yeah. You should.” Bull didn’t move his hand, either. Not for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think I read somewhere that Sten from DAO becomes the Arishok after DA2. Maybe it's just wishful headcanon, but I'm going with it.


	16. Fighting Dirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull returns from the Storm Coast a Tal-Vashoth. Some uncomfortable truths are revealed. Cullen finds a new way to relieve tension.

The circumference of the average raven leg was less than a half-inch. Even the thinnest paper could only be wrapped so many times around the bird’s appendage. The small slip Cullen held in his hand therefore contained only the briefest of coded messages. 

_ Q+ out. no ser. inj. I.B. & CH’s safe & with us. _

Cullen stared at the chit of paper, willing himself to react appropriately, knowing that Leliana was reading every twitch and breath.  _ Q+ out _ referred to the alliance; apparently it was off. No serious injuries - apparently there had been fighting.  _ I.B. & CH’s _ was clearly Iron Bull and the Chargers.  _ Safe. _ And not just safe.

_ With us. _ After a moment that stretched dangerously long, he handed it back to her. “Shame we don’t have more information.”

“Indeed,” Leliana acknowledged, her voice guileless.

Cullen chanced a look at her. There was a shadow of a grin playing about the corners of her mouth. Of course there was. He sighed. She’d probably known about him and Bull from almost the start. “Still, no injuries, that's always a good thing,” he noted.

“It is.” 

Cullen cleared his throat. “If there’s nothing else?”

“Five days,” Leliana said.

“Excuse me?”

“The time it takes to travel from the Storm Coast. Five days.” Leliana gave him a rare smile. “Not long at all, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose not.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck.

“Go with the Maker, Commander,” Leliana said by way of dismissal.

Five days went very fast. It was the nights which lasted far too long. Sleep was hard to come by, what with the way Cullen's mind insisted on going over his final conversation with Bull. When slumber did overtake him, his dreams were troubled, flashing between lust and nightmare and back again.

On the last day, Cullen forced himself to concentrate. He would not succumb to the temptation to shirk his duties, no matter how badly he wanted to simply pace the battlements. 

The horns rang out mid-afternoon. It was a point of pride that Cullen did not flinch. Knight-Captain Briony continued her report, and Cullen actually heard and responded appropriately, not letting the itch he had to be near Bull come in between him and his work.

Finally, the matter was attended to. “Excellent work, Knight-Captain. That will be all. Dismissed.”  

Briony withdrew with a crisp salute. Cullen straightened the papers on his desk, then rose and tugged his robes into place before making his way to the stables. 

The Inquisitor and her companions were unsaddling their mounts. Bull’s back was to Cullen, the muscles bunching and relaxing as he moved. Had it really been only a few weeks since Cullen had felt them under his hands?

Bull turned. The instant his gaze fell on Cullen, he was on the move, striding forward. Cullen got the impression Bull would simply stomp anyone or anything that got in the Qunari’s way. In seconds, Bull had closed the distance, and stood in front of him, far too close. Huge hands landed on Cullen’s shoulders. They squeezed, hard, almost to the point of discomfort. 

The contact was tearing at the fringes of what was appropriate. Cullen could feel the way Miranda and the others looked on in confused interest. But there was no force in Thedas that would make Cullen move away. He put one hand up, holding on to Bull’s forearm.

They probably should be talking. Saying  _ something. _ Cullen cleared his throat. “Bull,” he managed. Cullen glanced to the side. Cole was gazing at them with huge, unblinking eyes. “Um. Bull. The, uh, spirit is staring at us.”

“Yeah, he does that. You get used to it. Though, he’s pretty innocent. Probably not fair to be exposing him to the thoughts running through my head, beautiful one.” Bull grinned. “They’re getting pretty filthy, not gonna lie.”

Laughing helplessly, Cullen let go of Bull’s arm. “I’m afraid I’m in the same boat.” 

“Yeah?” Bull chuckled. “Kinda glad to hear that.”

It was a terrible idea, Cullen knew. There was so much left unsaid. He carried a knot of pain in his chest. The last conversation had loosened the tangle, but it twisted inside him still. Surely, indulging his smoldering desires would only complicate matters.

But oh, how he  _ burned. _

Bull leaned closer. “Pretty one. You wanna go somewhere more private?”

Cullen nodded. “Very much.”

“Let’s go.”

There were steps, and doors, and Cullen would be damned if he could remember them. All that seemed to matter was that they were suddenly in Bull’s room. 

A thumb lifted Cullen's chin. Maker, was he trembling? Maybe. Or was it Bull’s hand that trembled? That didn’t seem likely, because when he spoke his voice was unwavering. “There’s something you need to know.”

There was a warning in those words. “Bull. Whatever it is - I don’t care. I don’t care.” Cullen whispered. 

“But _ I _ do. I  _ care, _ Cullen.” Bull ran his finger over Cullen's jaw. “I need you to understand that.” Bull sat heavily on the side of the bed. “I haven’t always been the Iron Bull. Before that, I was Hissrad.” He spat the Qunlat word out. “It means  _ liar.”  _

It probably only felt as though all the air got sucked out of the room. Cullen made a conscious effort to expand his lungs against the perceived vacuum. 

“I lied to you. More than once. And I let you believe things, and that's just as bad. I let you believe, I made that choice, and I hurt you. Fuck. I  _ hurt  _ you.” Bull growled at himself, wiping at his face with his hands. “I didn’t realize until that night. But I should have. I wanted it to be okay, and it wasn’t, and I hurt you. Fuck.”

When Bull didn’t continue, Cullen spoke up. “I don’t understand. Let me believe what?”

“What you said. About me making you leave after we were done. About you not being the only one.”

Cullen had by now spent plenty of time compartmentalizing. It was, therefore, quite easy to recite the words he’d been practicing since Bull left. “Bull, I’m not a child. I know you enjoy the company of others, and that's perfectly fine.” Cullen hoped it sounded more convincing than it felt. He understood the theory, of course. And could see how, under certain circumstances, such a thing might work. 

“No, I  _ don’t.” _ Bull gritted his teeth. 

“Don’t what?”

“Enjoy the company of others. At least - not right now. I mean, I’ve done it that way before, and it was - damn it. The point is - Cullen, I haven’t been with anyone but you since Kirkwall.”

_ “What?”  _ It was simply not possible, what Bull was saying. “I don’t believe you,” Cullen accused.

“Funny thing, reputations. Once you get ‘em up and running, they don’t take a lot of upkeep. ‘Specially if you’ve got some soldiers willing to tell tales,” Bull mused.

“But - how - I don’t -” Cullen spluttered incoherently.

“Look, I’ve been doing this a long time. Not easy to fool this many people for so long, but that's why I picked a room with three doors. I have the Chargers come and go at night, maybe wear a couple different hats or whatever. People believe what they think they know.” Bull’s voice was leaden, tired.

“But -  _ why?”  _ Cullen finally managed. 

Bull shrugged. “I told you a lie, in Haven. Right at the beginning. I  _ am  _ that kind of spy. Or, I was,” he corrected himself with a heavy sigh. “Never seduced anyone. That's a line I don’t cross. But if someone wants to ride the Bull, and they have intel I might need, I let them. I get what I need, they get laid, everyone’s happy.” He scratched his ear absently. “Having a reputation for promiscuity makes it easier for people to approach me.”

The enormity of what Bull was saying began to trickle into Cullen's awareness. He felt sick. “Bull, that's... that's monstrous.”

“Nah,” Bull said, though it wasn’t convincing. “Better than torture, right? And it’s not like I don’t like sex. After Seheron, I got re-assigned. It was this or qamek and hard labor. Guess I don’t need to worry about that anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Boss didn’t tell you?” Bull’s head jerked up. “I’m Tal-Vashoth now. The Qun cut me off.” He blew air out from his lips. “Tal-Va- _ fucking- _ shoth. Damn. Anyway. Chantry boy like you, I thought you’d be ashamed if people knew, since they think I fuck everyone. I know you said you didn’t care. Guess I thought you were just saying that to make me feel better. I was trying to protect you. Fuck, I can’t believe I got it so wrong. Cullen, I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t ashamed,” Cullen said. “I just thought... that was the way you wanted it. A price I was willing to pay.”  

Bull stared at the floor, shaking his head. “No. No one’s worth those kind of secrets, not when they hurt that bad. Especially not me.”

Silence fell between them. So much made sense, now. It would have been comical, the misunderstanding, were it not for the excess of pent-up shame and misery in Cullen's gut that had no outlet. 

And it wasn’t just the Commander, apparently. Cullen could see the tension Bull was carrying in the way the warrior clenched and unclenched his hands. There was an obvious way to ease that tension, but the thought of sex in the context of their conversation made Cullen queasy. 

Bull sighed heavily. “There’s more. I haven’t told you everything.”

Cullen was well-versed in the art of self-reproach. From a personal perspective, of course, he had half a lifetime of involvement in heinous atrocities, the weight of which he expected to labor under to the end of his days. Even if that were not the case, Cullen was above all things a Commander, not unskilled in handing out discipline. There was a point at which wallowing in guilt no longer served a purpose, and Bull was rapidly approaching that threshold. “Can it wait?” Cullen asked. He rolled his shoulders and let a hint of impatience creep into his voice.

“What?” Bull looked up at him in surprise.

Cullen almost smiled. Almost. But he didn’t, instead adopting the air of a commanding officer who doesn’t have time for his recruits to bathe in guilt. “Whatever you have to say. Are the walls of Skyhold going to come tumbling down if you don’t tell me right away?”

“Uh, I guess not?” Bull raised an eyebrow.

“Let’s spar,” Cullen suggested.

_“What?”_ Bull squinted in confusion, almost laughing. His posture straightened.

“A few rounds in the practice ring will do us both good, I expect. You can tell me later.” 

The smile that began to take hold on Bull’s face told all Cullen he needed to know. “You think?”

“Good to get some exercise after sitting on a horse for so long, and I’ve been trapped in my office all day. Unless you’d rather not get trounced in front of everyone,” Cullen shrugged, nonchalant. “I perfectly understand.”

Bull slapped his knee and bounced off the bed. “Fuck, pretty boy, you are gonna regret that remark.” He laughed in delight.

They met a half-hour later in the courtyard. Bull was already in the practice ring, an axe slung over one shoulder. Cullen should not have been surprised to see the familiar faces gathered around the fence. Sera was practically quivering with excitement, Varric grinned ear to ear, Cassandra wore her characteristic sneer of disapproval, and Dorian scowled, his arms folded skeptically. Krem and a handful of Chargers milled around on the opposite side of the ring.

When Cullen approached, Dorian trotted up to meet him. “Just what in hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

“Sparring?” Cullen answered mildly.

“Cullen, don’t think I won’t slap you too.” Dorian glared at him. 

“It’s fine. It was just a misunderstanding. I appreciate your concern.”

“You’re sure?” Dorian asked. When Cullen nodded, Dorian raised one eyebrow provocatively. “Might I remind you that there are easier ways to enjoy carnal delight, if that's what you’re after?”

Cullen laughed helplessly. “You never give up, do you?”

Dorian gave a small, not-at-all-apologetic shrug. “No.”

“Blood magic’s not gonna help you, Commander!” Bull called out at them.

Stepping away from the mage, Cullen removed his cape and hung it on one of the posts. “Neither is that monstrosity of an axe,” Cullen shot back. 

“Don’t listen to him, baby,” Bull said, stroking the fullers on his weapon. “You’re beautiful.”

Cullen laughed, stepping to the side of the ring. Cassandra helped him strap into his shield, settling it on his forearm.

“Axe like that, might think someone’s  _ compensating, _ you know what I mean,” Sera declared, winking broadly.

Cullen looked over at Bull.  _ Now’s as good a time as any. _ “Oh, no. He’s not. Trust me.” Cullen grinned through the blush he felt rising on his cheeks. 

Bull was smiling too, his gaze locked on Cullen, even as everyone around them exchanged confused, then surprised glances.  

“You freaking joking?” Sera squawked. “Cully-wully? And Bull?” She dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“What can I say? I have good taste,” Bull said, still staring at Cullen. 

“Should we hide the children? Or are you two going to actually spar sometime before the sun goes down?” Krem knocked Bull on the back of the shoulder.

“Alright, alright,” Bull grumbled, his fingers tightening around the haft of his axe. “Come on, Chantry boy, show me what you’ve got.”

Cullen smirked, tapping the face of his shield with the blade of his sword. In the aftermath of the rebellion in Kirkwall, Cullen's fighting style had shifted dramatically. Templar training relied heavily on full plate armor and the skills imparted by lyrium. Useful in a Circle, or when chasing down the odd solitary mage, but not necessarily the best tactic for pitched battles in urban combat. The Commander had moved towards a more nimble, athletic fighting style, with medium-weight armor, a smaller shield, and a hand-and-a-half bastard sword, suitable for one-handed combat with a shield or parrying dagger.

And of course, Kirkwall had also taught him a thing or two about fighting Qunari.

So Cullen let Bull rush him, straight on. He took a defensive posture, one Bull would expect, but held more weight on his back foot than tradition called for. Bull’s smile fell a fraction as he closed the distance in which Cullen would, under normal Templar training, raise his weapon for a counterstrike. 

But Cullen merely smiled wider. The unfamiliar tactic threw Bull, and he hesitated, his axe falling an instant too late. 

Cullen, meanwhile, ducked and twisted, raising his shield at an angle. The metal pressed into Bull’s ribcage, and the Qunari’s own bodyweight provided the momentum for Cullen to pivot, following Bull’s motion. He tapped the back of Bull’s thighs with the flat of his blade on the upswing. In battle, Bull would have been hamstrung.

“Oooh,  _ nasty,” _ Bull said as he recovered. “I  _ like  _ it.”

“Thought you might,” Cullen grinned.

“Didn’t know you liked it  _ dirty,” _ Bull leered. “This changes everything.”

Cullen's laugh was cut off as Bull kicked a puff of dust at his face, then followed up with a jab from his pommel. Cullen dodged into a backwards shoulder roll. The pauldron ground into him -- no doubt he'd have a nasty bruise come morning. He had just enough time to raise his shield against a swipe of Bull’s axe.

But Bull had a few surprises in store as well. The blow did not land on the shield itself. Instead Bull hooked the top of the shield with the beard of his axe and yanked. Cullen was pulled forward, off-balance, and received a (gentle) boot to the backside.

By now the crowd was hooting and cheering all around them. Bull reached down and helped Cullen to rise. “Looking good, pretty boy. Shoulda done this ages ago.”

“I agree.” Cullen wiped the grit from his chin with the back of his wrist. He was breathing hard now, the beginnings of a sheen of sweat forming on his skin. He walked to the side of the ring, holding his shield arm out to Cassandra. Rolling her eyes, she began to unbuckle it. 

“You sure you wanna play it like that? Don’t you feel all naked?” Bull drawled. “Know you Chantry types like to hide behind your steel.” 

Cullen cocked an eyebrow. Without pausing to respond, he began to unstrap his vambraces, giving an upnod to the Seeker.

Huffing in frustration, Cassandra began to unbuckle his cuirass. The Chargers let out a hoot in unison. 

By now the crowd around them had grown. Bull was just shaking his horns, a pleased little grin on his face as Cullen divested himself of armor. When he was down to his undertunic and leathers, he shot a challenging smirk at the Qunari.

“Commander. Have you taken leave of your senses?” Cassandra snapped at him.

“Seeker, do shut up. I want to see this,” Dorian cooed, angling for a better view.

Cullen shrugged the tunic off. There was a chorus of catcalls and whistles at his shirtless chest, mostly from the Chargers side, though Sera and Varric seemed to be trying to make up the difference. Cullen grasped his sword in his right hand, drawing a gauche from his belt for his left. He circled Bull with a wary, slow pace.

“Ha HA! Knew I liked you for a reason.” Bull said, rolling his shoulders. 

Cullen charged. He was out of practice for dueling, especially against someone armed with a two-handed axe the size of a goat. But it was rapidly coming back to him. Now that Cullen was fighting without armor, Bull changed tactics to make up for the Commander’s increased dexterity. He wielded the axe almost like a staff, gripping one hand on the shoulder, the other near the pommel, and using the haft to catch the edge of Cullen's blade. Cullen attempted to use the cross-piece of his dagger to pull the weapon from Bull’s grip, but the Qunari just chuckled.

Bull pressed the advantage of his size, keeping Cullen's main blade high where the Qunari could counter, and keeping the human far enough away that he couldn’t get in a thrust with his off-hand weapon.

Cullen was starting to tire, and the crowd had quieted. The Commander backed several steps away, breathing heavy. He had one trick left, but if it failed, he would lose the match. 

Without warning, Cullen tossed his sword to his right, letting the weapon skitter across the ground. Bull had to turn his head left to follow the motion on his blind side. Cullen leapt at him, full speed, grabbing the closest horn with his right hand.

Bull, naturally, reared up. Cullen used his own inertia and the momentum of Bull’s body to swing up and around, pressing his chest to Bull’s back. At the same time, he reached around with his left hand, tapping the flat of his gauche on Bull’s wide leather belt, signalling that he would have gutted Bull.

“Gotcha,” Cullen murmured into his ear, before dropping the dagger and allowing his body to slide down Bull’s back. 

The crowd erupted in cheers. Bull turned, an intensely goofy smile plastered across his face. Cullen suspected it was a mirror of his own. “Holy  _ fuck _ , Cullen, that was fucking incredible.” He looked as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to shake Cullen's hand, kiss him, or possibly just have his way with the Commander right there on the practice field.

Cullen laughed. He winced as he probed at his shoulder, a bruise already beginning to bloom on his pale skin. “I’m going to be paying for it tomorrow, I’m afraid.”

Bull reached down and grabbed his hand. “Come on,” he said, attempting to drag Cullen away.

“Bull, my gear -” Cullen began to protest.

“Krem! Get the Commander’s gear and bring it up to his office. Sharpen the blade and oil the straps while you’re at it.” Bull called the orders over his shoulder, pulling Cullen towards the keep and ignoring Krem’s groan of complaint.

“Bull, where are you taking me?” Cullen laughed. People were beginning to snicker, though not in a mean-spirited way.

Bull leaned close, his voice for Cullen only. “I’m getting you a hot bath, pretty one. Soothe those muscles. Then I’m gonna fuck you senseless. Then I’m buying you dinner and getting you tipsy on the good stuff. Not too tipsy though, cause after I’m gonna fuck you again. Maybe twice, haven’t decided.” Bull rattled off the litany as if it was a foregone conclusion.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen laughed, knowing with utter clarity that Bull would make good on his word, and that Cullen would love every minute of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, I thought about, like, looking up how long it would actually take to travel to the Storm Coast? But then I remembered I'm writing gay porn about a dragon-man hybrid and a holy warrior and I decided I didn't care that much.


	17. Nothing but the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull makes good on his plans, and reveals what happened at the Storm Coast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so, I've been staring at this chapter till I've gone a bit cross eyed, and I don't have a beta, so... this is as good as it gets, I guess?

Bull’s schedule for the evening (bath, sex, dinner, drinks, more sex) was almost immediately derailed when the Qunari couldn’t seem to keep his hands off Cullen as they bathed. Not that there was anyone to see them, not at that time in the evening.  Still, the process of actually getting clean took rather a lot longer than normal.

On the whole it balanced out. By the time they made it to Bull’s room, they were both so eager that the sex began before the door was even technically shut all the way. Bull slammed Cullen against the wall, grinding and nibbling and growling, yanking clothing out of the way without bothering to take it off.

It was intoxicating, in equal measures playful and hungry and desperate. They didn’t even make it to the bed, for Maker’s sake. Bull kept him pinned to the wall, the granite digging into his skin as the Qunari moved against him. 

Cullen, for his part, ran his mouth over every bit of Bull he could reach. There was a faint soap scent clinging to Bull’s skin which only served to underscore the fact that things would probably get messy soon enough. And then Cullen felt Bull wrap a spit-slick hand around their cocks and  _ Maker,  _ was it good. 

Cullen whined and shivered, holding still as he could, afraid to break the rhythm Bull set. His teeth dug into the meat of Bull’s chest, earning him a growling shout. Neither of them seemed capable of speech; Bull’s grunts were low and guttural, Cullen's whines sharp and percussive.

It was Bull that came first. Cullen felt the pulses in his own dick, and then the hot splash on his stomach a moment later. Bull didn’t loosen his grip though, continuing to spurt even as Cullen convulsed with his own orgasm. 

As Cullen tried to gather his breath, Bull pulled him away from the cold wall, his embrace firm. There was something incredibly intimate about it, the fact that they hadn’t even spoken. Cullen had experienced his fair share of wordless sex, usually near-silent bouts of mutual masturbation snatched frantically in Circle basements or store rooms. 

This was different. It hadn’t been silent, for one thing. Just the opposite, in fact. Cullen dimly wondered whether his cries carried all the way to the main floor of the tavern. It was as if they simply hadn’t needed any words at all, an almost primal exchange. It left Cullen feeling scraped raw, and not just physically.

They might’ve stood there a lot longer if Bull’s stomach hadn’t started rumbling loudly. Cullen began to snicker, Bull joining in a moment later. “Come on,” Bull said, pulling away and giving Cullen a playful smack on the ass. “Let’s get some food.”

It was remarkable how different everything felt. Cullen and Bull had eaten together before; indeed, they’d shared a post-coitus meal in Haven. No one had batted an eye when they had arrived at the dining hall at the same time back then.

Now, however, it was clear that rumors traveled startlingly fast within Skyhold. When they stepped into the dining hall, they were greeted with a variety of reactions, ranging between wide smiles and broad winks to startled frowns and poorly hidden whispers. 

Miranda, gracious and friendly as ever, waved them to the Inquisitor’s table. Cullen felt Bull’s hand drop onto his shoulder, the palm heavy and hot through Cullen’s tunic. 

“Hey boss,” Bull said, not attempting to hide the grin in his voice.

“Work up an appetite in the practice ring, did we?” She smirked, her eyes twinkling, no trace of resentment or disappointment in her voice. Cullen let out a small sigh of relief, not realizing until that moment that he’d been concerned over her reaction. But if she harbored any ill will, she hid it masterfully. Cullen doubted that was the case; Miranda was many things, but deceptive was not one of them.

“You know it,” Bull laughed, letting his hand slide between Cullen's shoulderblades.

“I hear I missed quite a show.”

“That you did.” Bull’s hand was still firmly planted on Cullen's back. 

As the evening went on, it became clear that Bull intended to keep his hands on Cullen as much as possible. Cullen had known the Qunari was a physical person - he was forever clapping people on the back or shoulder, little touches that Cullen had come to understand were intended to make the huge warrior more approachable. 

This was different. Bull seemed unwilling to let Cullen out of arm’s reach. The touch itself wasn’t egregiously affectionate, but for the constancy. Was this normal? Cullen had little frame of reference. 

Whatever it was, it filled Cullen with warmth. A grin was never far from his face as they ate, and after, in the tavern, the ale loosened his reservations further. 

The opposite seemed to be the case for Bull, however. As the night wore on, the Qunari’s own smile never flagged, but there was a brittle quality to his good humor. Though Cullen was no trained observer, he’d spent enough time in Bull’s company that he could spot the tiny reactions. The miniscule pauses before the easy laugh, the tension in Bull’s hand as it rested on Cullen's shoulder, the clench of Bull’s jaw.

Something was bothering him, that much was certain. Cullen was not a demonstrative man. Tentatively, he slid his hand to rest on Bull’s knee under the table.

Bull’s reaction was immediate. He looked at Cullen, the motion sharp. His smile re-emerged, and now there was no question of its warmth or sincerity. “You ready to get out of here, maybe?”

“If you like.”

“I like,” Bull smirked as he stood.

This time, Bull did not lead him by the hand. Cullen followed him up the stairs, glowing red with embarrassment. There was, after all, a difference between not having to hide his relationship, and letting the entire tavern know he was about to have sex. 

Judging by the looks he was catching from the corner of his eye, the other patrons knew exactly what was about to happen on the top floor. It was disconcerting, to say the least. For the first time, Cullen actually considered what it meant, to be open about his association with Bull. The reality was much, much different than his hypothetical musings. It was all but inevitable that there would be talk among his troops, and if the glances tossed their way were any indication, not all the talk would be benign. 

Suddenly he felt very foolish. His selfishness in wanting this... was it a relationship? Whatever it was, it might cause negative repercussions to the Inquisition. Would it be viewed as a point of weakness? Maker, what would the Orlesians think? He’d not considered the racism that ran rampant in the west. 

Bull opened the door to his quarters and held it open for Cullen. “You all right?”

There was that weight in Bull’s voice again. Cullen pushed aside his own brooding. He was not an empathic person. Or rather, any natural tendencies to offer comfort had been beaten out of him after decades as a Templar. 

But how often had Bull helped him? Countless times, surely. Couldn’t Cullen return the favor? He cleared his throat. “I was going to ask you the same question.” 

“Don’t need to worry about me, pretty boy.” Bull sat on the bed and began to remove his brace. 

“You think you can stop me?” Cullen folded his arms, trying to look stern, though the effect was marred somewhat by the grin that snuck across his face.

Bull opened his mouth to answer, then ended up snickering wordlessly. The brace thudded to the floor. “You gonna just stand there?”

“Are you going to keep changing the subject?” Cullen’s smile slipped a bit.

Bull leaned a hand on one knee. “You walked away from the Order.” 

Cullen wasn’t expecting the shift in conversation, and it took him a moment to adjust. “Yes.”

“Yeah well, what if it hadn’t been your choice? You think you’d wanna talk about it?” There was more than a hint of growl in Bull’s voice, as annoyance edged out the worry.

Maker’s breath,  _ of course. _ Cullen felt unbelievably stupid. He’d been so wrapped up in their reunion that he’d overlooked the fact that Bull had been cut off from the Qun. 

The brief moment of warmth from earlier was cooling rapidly. Bull was staring at the floor, a stubborn frown taking hold. Bull had never done much talking about the Qun, but Cullen knew it was a source of strength, of control. 

Was that what was troubling Bull? Whatever it was, it was best to get it out in the open. Cullen straightened his posture. “You were going to tell me something, I believe. I’m listening.”

Bull didn’t look up. “Do you know why the Qun did this whole alliance bullshit?”

“To test your loyalty,” Cullen said at once. 

“No. It wasn’t a test, pretty one. Test was over ages ago, before I ever met the boss, and I failed. This was them giving me a choice of consequences.”

“I don’t understand.”

After a moment’s pause, Bull slumped further. “You remember what I told you in Haven, in the war room, that first day?”

“About being sent to Kirkwall to check on the city?”

“Yeah. That.” He sighed, a heavy sound, and Cullen's stomach clenched. “That was a lie. Another lie. They sent me to check on  _ you. _ Specifically. Wanted to make sure you weren’t a Meredith-in-training. And who do I see the second I walk in the damn bar? Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford. Fuck,” Bull grunted, hanging his head.

Cullen's mouth went dry. “What?”

“Like I said, I’m that kind of spy.” 

The room seemed to shrink around Cullen. “You... you mean... I was your  _ quarry _ ?”

“Yeah.” Bull couldn’t seem to meet his gaze. Instead the Qunari stood, rooting through a nearby chest to find a dusty, half-empty bottle. He uncorked it with his teeth and took a deep draught. “When I saw you puking your guts out, knew right away you’d gone off lyrium. And I thought, fuck, this guy’s throwing it all away.” He took another long drink, then held the bottle out to Cullen.

Cullen raised an eyebrow and shook his head, anger beginning to boil in his blood.

Bull set the bottle down on the floor. “There was my answer. Didn’t even need to do anything. So I wrote up my report, that first night, while you slept. Before anything happened between us.” He leaned backwards, pulling open the drawer to his nightstand. He pulled out a sealed scroll and handed it to Cullen.

Scowling, Cullen snatched the parchment. He broke the seal and scanned the page. There was a description of Cullen, as well as mention of the lyrium withdrawal as a likely cause for his illness. “This is a copy of your report,” he said flatly. 

“No. Not a copy.” Bull said. 

“I don’t -” Cullen began to ask for clarification, before realization struck him. “You never sent the report.” The anger drained away, quenched in an instant.

Bull didn’t answer. He just picked up the bottle and took another drink. “The next night I wrote up a second one, said I was gonna need more time to investigate before I sent them a full report.” He suppressed a burp with one hand. “And then, y’know, you left, so hey. Not my problem. Sent in the next write-up about your replacement.”

“But you guessed I was going to leave, didn’t you?”

Bull shrugged. “I didn’t know for sure you were leaving until you told me. They asked for a report on the potential stabilizing or de-stabilizing effect of the Templar commanding officer on Kirkwall and the surrounding region. I gave them that. So, technically, I didn’t disobey.” He drank again, then contemplated the bottle. “Might have bent the rules a little. Fudged a couple dates. Left out the part about you being sick. Not the first time I skirted the line. Shit, you shoulda seen my report when I had to explain how I’d ‘damaged Qun property’ by losing my eye for Krem. Still. After all this time, hoped it wouldn’t catch up to me. Maybe it wasn’t just this - maybe it was everything. Doesn’t matter now.”

“But.... why did you do it?” Cullen spluttered. “We’d only just met. Is it because we... Andraste preserve me.” He felt a little dizzy.

“I’d have done the same thing even if we’d never touched each other.” Bull didn’t avert his gaze, looking right at Cullen. “I did it because you seemed like someone who was trying to do the right thing. Who believed in something, even if it was gonna kill him. The Qun cares about results, not intentions. They wouldn’t hesitate to twist your struggle towards their own strategic gain, if they thought it would get them something. You served your time, paid your price. Didn’t want anyone holding that over your head. Also, no offense, but... didn’t think you’d live very long.”

“But... they didn’t know I was dying. You didn’t tell them about the lyrium.”

“Nope. It was just a guess, after all. I didn’t know for sure. Coulda been the shitty beer at the bar.”

“If I’d succumbed to lyrium sickness -”

“No. Don’t even go there. If you’d died, there might not even be an Inquisition. Thousands of people who are alive now would be dead.” Bull’s voice was firm. “Cullen. Don’t mistake any of the shit I’m going through as regret. It’s not.”

“Because you chose your consequence,” Cullen said, putting the pieces together.

“Exactly,” Bull said. “It’s why they sent Gatt. Probably to remind me we can all come back from foolish decisions. All I needed to do was go back to toeing the line. Shit. My tama would say I shouldn’t have been capable of doing anything else. Maybe this was their plan for me all along. Who the fuck knows.”

Cullen's emotions began to vie for supremacy - betrayal, relief, panic, affection, and above it all a thick layer of confusion as to why Bull would do something like that - not in general, but for Cullen specifically. Given the grand melee going on in his mind, perhaps it wasn’t surprising that Cullen began to laugh. 

“Glad you think it’s funny, pretty boy,” Bull growled. 

“Oh, no, I’m trying to decide if this puts me one up on Krem,” Cullen squinted, scratching his forehead in mock contemplation. “You gave up an eye for him, but the Qun for me.” He held up his hands, pretending to weigh each. 

The scowl on Bull’s face lightened to a mere frown. “Don’t tell Krem, but I think you win,” Bull said. 

Cullen reached for the bottle. He drank deeply, then spluttered. “Maker, Bull, what the hell is this?” Over the sound of Bull’s snicker, he read the label. “Alvarado's Bathtub Boot Screech? What does that even mean?”

“Picked it up in the Exalted Plains a while back. Packs a punch.”

“It tastes awful,” Cullen complained, even as he took another swig. 

“And yet you keep drinking.”

“You keep giving me reasons,” Cullen shot back, the words spilling out before he could stop them, grinding the levity of the moment to dust. Cullen frowned at the bottle. “You lied to me. Twice.”

Drawing in a huge sigh, Bull wiped at his face. “Yeah. I told you. Hissrad.”

As lies went, these were mild, benign even. Cullen harbored no expectations that Bull would be open with him about his work with the Ben-Hassrath. Still, it shook him. Lying was bad; he should be angry. He  _ should  _ be, but there was a strange blank space where the anger should reside instead. Deception did not come easily to Cullen, and he knew full well that he tended toward the gullible end of the spectrum. He was too trusting, and always had been. It wasn’t the lie that bothered him; it was his lack of ability to doubt. “Why did you lie?”

Bull paused, turning away. “I wanna say it was because we fucked, but that's just another lie. It’s because you stayed. After. Didn’t want you thinking that meant nothing. Thought maybe... well. Hoped that might happen again.”

It was rather too much to take in at once, but one thing Bull said stood out in stark relief.  _ It’s because you stayed. _ “I always wanted to stay. I still do. All you had to do was say the word.” 

“Yeah?” Bull sounded as if he didn’t believe it. Or as if he wanted to, but couldn’t. “Even now? With all the crap I put you through?”

“Wouldn’t want you to feel like you were the only one being foolish.” Cullen blurted out the joke and immediately regretted it. 

“That what you think? That  _ you’re _ the fool here?” Bull shook his horns in disbelief.

“Aren’t I?” Hysteria tinged Cullen's voice as the words tumbled out. “Pretty sure that's exactly what I am, Bull. You’ve lied to me since the very beginning, since the first  _ minute,  _ and I don’t  _ care. _ I don’t care that you lied - I should, I know, but I don’t, because I just want you so badly and  _ Maker, _ if that doesn’t make me the most pathetic fool you’ve ever met, then I don’t know what does.” Cullen was almost shouting by the end. 

Apparently it was Bull’s turn to laugh, the sound filling the room.

“I fail to see what’s so amusing,” Cullen said, trying to keep his composure against the immense pressure of Bull’s laughter; it was a contagious thing.

“We are  _ terrible  _ at this, Cullen.”

That snapped Cullen's resolve, and he began to laugh as well. “We are, aren’t we?”

Bull reached for the bottle and found it mostly empty. “Think I’d better hit Cabot up before he goes to bed. Be right back.”

Still snickering, Bull pulled the door to the tavern open. “What the fuck?”

Dorian tumbled into the room. He was crouched over, obviously having had his ear pressed to the door. After a few steps, he tugged his robes straight and adopted an imperious air. “I heard shouting,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“I told him you didn’t need help. He didn’t believe me.” Cole was out in the hall, peering up from under his ridiculous hat, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Somehow seeing the look on Dorian's face just made everything that much funnier. Cullen burst forth with a fresh round of laughter, practically snorting. 

“C’mon Cole. You can help me carry the bottles.” Bull clapped the boy on the shoulder and led him downstairs.

“Dorian, what on earth are you doing here?” Cullen laughed, wiping his eyes.

“I told you. I heard shouting.” Dorian frowned. 

“Did you. Over the noise of the taproom?” Cullen grinned.

“I... came upstairs. To drink in peace.” Dorian waved vaguely.

“Well if you heard shouting, you must’ve heard laughing, as well.” Cullen folded his arms.

Dorian huffed and sank into the chair across the table. “Cullen, are you  _ quite  _ sure you know what you’re doing?” He leaned forward, hissing conspiratorially.

“I have no idea. But that's nothing new. Why should you care?” 

“Because you’re - you’re my friend. Isn’t that what friends do? Look out for each other?” Dorian sounded uncertain. 

It occurred to Cullen that perhaps Dorian was actually unsure. He’d only spoken of a few friends back in Tevinter. Perhaps the mage truly didn’t know. The last vestiges of laughter escaped from Cullen's lips. “They do, yes. I believe they also know when to stand down and allow their friends to pursue the objects of their affection.” 

Dorian's frown dissolved and he gave a weary, overwrought sigh. “Have it your way. I only wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt you.”

“Shit, Pavus, you  _ suck _ at this. You’re supposed to give  _ me _ the shovel speech, not him.” Bull loomed in the doorway, a bottle in each hand.

“Does anyone know how this is supposed to work?” Cullen called out to no one in particular. 

Cole spoke up. “I know. You lay down on the bed and The Iron Bull puts his -” 

Dorian leapt up and covered the boy’s mouth. “Yes yes, we all know that part, thank you Cole. Let’s just let these lovesick fools be...  _ foolish,” _ he concluded, the regal tilt of his profile in direct contrast to his somewhat underwhelming word choice. He swept out of the bedroom, and if he stumbled slightly on the threshold, no one said anything.

“I’m not sure who’s worse at this, him or us.” Bull plunked a bottle of wine on the table. 

“I’d say it’s a tie.” Cullen leaned back in his chair. 

“You’re smiling,” Bull noted, his own lips curving up in one corner.

“Finding it hard not to, somehow,” Cullen said. “This is absolutely ludicrous.” He took the cup of wine Bull proffered.

Bull raised his own wine in toast. “Yeah. It kinda is.”

Before Cullen drank, he paused. “No more lies?” As soon as he spoke, he realized how childish it sounded. His asking surely did nothing but reveal his weakness, his gullibility. 

Bull’s hand dipped slightly. “I know my word doesn’t count for much right now. All I can ask is a chance to prove it does.” 

There was a moment where neither of them spoke, sipping their drinks. The enormity of the conversation began to hit Cullen, his mind finally catching up to what had been revealed. He cleared his throat. “So... um. How do... how do we do this again?” He scratched his eyebrow, looking sheepishly up at Bull.

Bull burst out laughing again, spluttering on his wine. “Fucked if I know. We don’t -” He cut himself off. “The Qun,  _ they,” _ he winced, stressing the pronoun, “they don’t really allow pairings. So you’re asking the wrong guy.”

“Ah,” Cullen said delicately. “Neither do Templars.”

“No?” Bull asked. “Never had a special friend?”

Cullen paused, his wine cup halfway to his mouth. “Not... officially. No. There was one... it was a long time ago. When we were initiates. Not like... it wasn’t like this,” he said, waving vaguely at the room before downing the rest of his drink and holding it out for a refill.

Bull looked at him, assessing everything Cullen didn’t say. “Yeah? Feel like there’s a story there.”

Cullen coughed on his wine. “He... left. It was right before the Blight. Conscripted as a Warden.”

“Ah. Did he -?” Bull left it hanging.

“Live? Yes. Um. He’s... uhm,” Cullen stared at a spot over Bull’s left horn. “Ah. He’s King, now. Actually. His Royal Highness, Alistair Theirin.” He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze down to his wine cup.

“Hot damn, Cullen, you fucked a  _ king? _ ” Bull slapped his knee, rolicking with laughter.

“I didn’t - we -” Cullen blushed. “We didn’t....” He cleared his throat again. “Maker. Why did I tell you that? He wasn’t king at the time. Just a red-headed bastard who ate too much cheese.” 

“Ooh, a redhead? Love me some redheads,” Bull grinned. “Did you bunk together? Mmm, picturing it now, the two of you fumbling around under the blankets, trying to be all sneaky and quiet, grinding on each other, not lasting for shit.” 

Cullen continued to flush, now as much from the memory as embarrassment. “I imagine that seems frightfully tame by your standards.”

“Think it’s hot, actually,” Bull said. “Not much call for sneaking around in the Qun dormitories. Puberty hits us pretty hard. The Tamassrans are more concerned with consent and splitting up partner-bonding than keeping us from getting our rocks off.”

“How - how can you prevent bonding? It just happens, doesn’t it?”

Bull shrugged and refilled his glass. “Maybe ‘prevent’ isn’t the right word. It was forbidden, so if they caught you hanging around the same person too much you got split up, sent to different dormitories. Most of us got around it by forming triads or quads. Think the Tamas were on to it, but hey. It got them out of having to split up lovesick teens, and we all got to have favorites. It worked.”

Cullen squinted at Bull. “I’m sorry, what? Triads - are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Ah, there’s the prudish southern Chantry crap. Knew it wasn’t all reading smut or rubbing one out on future kings,” Bull snickered. “Yeah. Not a big deal - some people go for it, some don’t. Pretty common for the Qun, but we’re laid back about some things.”

Blinking rapidly, Cullen shifted uncomfortably on his seat. “I can’t say I’ve ever met anyone who’s done that.”

“Sure you have,” Bull said. “Skinner and Dalish and Krem are together.”

“Sweet Maker, really?” Cullen's eyes went wide, his mind suddenly picturing the two elves and the lieutenant tangled together. He shook his head to clear it. “Well. That's....”

“Hot as fuck? Yeah, pretty much. Trust me, it’s probably even hotter than you think, if the sounds coming from their tent are any indication.”

“I was going to say complicated,” Cullen corrected him. 

“Oh, right. That too.” Bull pretended like he’d been thinking that, which fooled Cullen not a bit.

“Maker, this has been quite a night,” Cullen said, draining his cup and setting it down.

“Yeah it has,” Bull agreed, placing his cup beside Cullen's. He waited a beat, then rose and held his hand out. “Stay with me? Tonight?”

Funny, even though Cullen had been waiting, what... over a year to hear that question, he didn’t have an answer at the ready. Blurting out  _ oh sweet Maker yes _ was too desperate, surely, but  _ you think you could stop me? _ was too cheeky by half. So instead he simply took Bull’s hand and rose. “Of course.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alvarado's Bathtub Boot Screech is from the Bottles of Thedas collection. Also you can pull Cullistair from my cold, stiff, skeleton hand. I will never not headcanon that they were initiates together for a little while.


	18. Not a Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of a long, long day. Cullen and Bull spend the night together, but it doesn't go quite as they expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the updated tags!

It felt different. Of course, it was bound to - so much had changed in the course of a day. When Bull sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Cullen to stand between his knees, there was no anxiety clouding the moment. No worries about disappointing Bull, or what would come after. Just the slide of hot palms up Cullen's arm, the touch at once possessive and reverent. 

Cullen shivered, then laughed, breathless. 

“Yeah?” Bull asked, and Cullen nodded, somehow understanding Bull’s meaning. 

Bull repeated the gesture, this time dragging Cullen's tunic up and over the man’s head. “Damn.” Bull’s thumb traced down Cullen's breastbone to his navel. “Almost lost control of myself in the ring today, with you putting on such a show for me.” The thumb dipped lower, hooking into the waistband of Cullen's trousers. 

Cullen's cock was already stirring with interest, and the proximity of Bull’s hand made him twitch. “I wanted to -” The remainder of the thought got swallowed into a groan when the fabric slid over his length.

“Make me lose my shit? Mission accomplished.” Bull laughed.

Cullen shook his head. “I wanted to... please you.” He inhaled, hard and sharp, as if he could draw the words back into himself. 

“Oh, my beautiful one, I don’t deserve you,” Bull murmured. “I don’t deserve this.”

Cullen wasn’t entirely sure he deserved it either. He'd never had anyone return his affection, or at least never acknowledge it to him openly. Bull cared for him. It was amazing, really, that Cullen could have desired that so strongly and yet have no idea how it actually felt. 

And now he knew and Maker, it was a dangerous thing. He felt like he might combust, or simply take flight with no warning, fall into the sky and land on the moon. “I can't have ever done anything good enough in my life to deserve how good this feels,” Cullen said. “It doesn’t feel real.” He tentatively slid his hands up, resting them on Bull’s ribs.

“That's good. Like it when you touch me.” Bull spoke into Cullen's hair. “Keep going, pretty one.”

Cullen had never had the opportunity to simply get his fill of touch. He ran his palms over the skin of Bull’s back, as far as he could reach.

There was just so  _ much  _ of him. The expanse of skin seemed even larger with the new map his hands were making. Bull loosened his hold, dropping his hands to Cullen's hips, allowing him to lean back, continue his exploration on Bull’s neck and chest.

The rope of muscles in his neck defied belief. Bull stretched his head to one side as Cullen's fingertips slipped over the flesh. The cords were as thick as a child's wrist. Cullen had often buried his face there, overwhelmed by the things Bull was doing to the rest of his body.

Now, in the sputtering light of the candles, Cullen measured, finger by finger, the power just under the grey skin. “Maker, you're strong,” he breathed. He tensed, regretting the words that he’d let loose.

Cullen had never been very comfortable with his looks. He knew others found him attractive, of course. The last few times he indulged in relations, his partners praised his beauty. It always rang hollow, the words reminding Cullen that it was his body that mattered, not his person.

Surely, Bull must have faced the same thing. His size and strength drew others like flies to honey. Bull had said as much, used that to his advantage. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean -” Cullen faltered, not sure how to say it. “That's not why I'm here.”

“It’s all right,” Bull said, nodding a little. “Does it bother you when I call you pretty one?” 

Cullen shook his head. Even during their first meeting in Kirkwall, when Bull called him  _ pretty boy _ , it never felt quite the same. Somehow Bull managed to make it tongue in cheek, playful. When had he started calling Cullen pretty one? Cullen wasn't sure. It was such a small distinction, really, just one small word substituted for another. Warmth flooded into his chest when he realized Bull had been calling him that for a long time. A long time. 

“You were telling me all along, weren't you? That this... that it mattered.” Cullen laughed sheepishly. “I've been dense again, haven't I?” 

“Nah,” Bull scoffed, his tone indicating the precise opposite. “Maybe a tad unobservant. But hey, not everyone can see as much as I do.”

Cullen smiled, tapping Bull's eyepatch. “Clearly.”

Bull flinched away, the movement old and automatic. 

“Sorry.” Cullen mumbled the apology. Maker, was there no end to the mistakes he could make?

“No, it's fine. Old habits.” 

“Can... can I...?” Cullen touched the strap, near Bull’s temple.

The Qunari paused, looking at him with that blank expression, making whatever calculations he made when he assessed a situation. “Yeah. Yeah, ok.”

Fumbling a bit, Cullen unsnapped the strap circling Bull’s horn. Once that was loose, he pulled the patch away. 

Bull looked up at him, gauging his reaction, no doubt. It certainly wasn't the first time Cullen had seen someone with a missing eye. The scar which slashed across Bull's eyebrow down to his cheek simply had a pucker in the center. Whoever had treated Bull for the injury had done a good job. It had healed well. 

“It's not pretty,” Bull said after a moment.

“That's not...” Cullen stopped himself from making light of it, from repeating  _ that's not why I'm here. _ Because in all truth, Bull's missing eye  _ was _ why Cullen was there, in that room, half-naked with the man that had lied to him for so long. Because Bull had given up his eye for Krem. It was who he was. A man who, in an instant, had weighed Cullen's worth as he vomited in an alley, seen something worthy, and had made that choice, that sacrifice, consequences be damned.

Cullen started again. “I think... You’re not like anyone I’ve met.” He tried to smile but it didn't quite fit. He was too close the edge, too soon. Whatever this was, he didn't need to ruin it by trying to put it into words. 

“Yeah?” And now it was Bull’s turn to try on the smile, but it didn't seem to fit him, either. So he pulled Cullen down, putting their lips to better use. 

This, at last, fit. Cullen sank into it, grateful and hungry at the same time. Within seconds he was panting as he rocked against Bull.

“Easy, easy, pretty one. It's all right.” Bull gentled him, at least a little. 

Even with the effort to calm him, Cullen was still quivering. “What - what do you -” 

“Shhh. I got you. Damn, you're all worked up, aren't you? My precious one, all worked up for me.” Bull’s gaze had gone ravenous. “Gonna give you a choice. Tonight I wanna take something away - your sight, or your voice. Which is it gonna be, pretty one?”

Cullen swallowed hard. After everything, he couldn’t imagine not being able to see Bull. “My voice.”

Bull’s grin widened. “Nice. Been a long time since I made you scream. On the bed. You need to stop, knock on the headboard.”

Cullen scrambled to lay on the mattress while Bull rooted through a small chest, pulling out a gag with a leather ball attached. He leaned down, kissing Cullen breathless. “Just had to get a last little taste.” 

Cullen lifted his head to allow Bull to settle the gag and buckle the strap. When he was done, he lowered Cullen's head carefully down, propping him up a bit with pillows. Then he rose and stood at the foot of the bed. With that same hungry grin, he began to unbuckle his belt, slow and deliberate, making sure Cullen could see him. Usually Cullen was too distracted to pay proper attention when Bull was undressing. Now there was nothing to take his focus away from the sight of the Qunari.

It wasn’t like a strip tease, at least not from Cullen's very limited experience at the Blooming Rose. Oh, the anticipation was there. But the act of Bull removing his clothing was as much about Bull’s pleasure as Cullen's. Possibly because Cullen couldn’t mask his reaction, even without the ability to speak. His cock bobbed and twitched, especially once Bull let the thin trousers flutter to the ground, spitting into his palm and stroking himself. 

Cullen's hands fisted into the sheets. He desperately wanted to touch himself, but he just as keenly wanted Bull to give him permission to do so. The thought was enough to make him groan, bucking his hips.

“Damn. So eager. You know what I’m gonna do with this, right?” Bull weighed the cock in his hand.

Cullen nodded, whimpering a little. 

“That’s right. Gonna take you apart, pretty one. Tear you to little pieces. That what you want?” 

Again, Cullen nodded, more insistent. 

“Got a little surprise for you. Since you can see.” Bull went back to his chest.

Cullen had no idea what Bull was going to pull out of the box. It turned out to be a large, sturdy hand mirror, the kind with a long wooden handle. “Want you to see just how beautiful you look, when you take me.”

Had he the power of speech, Cullen would surely have babbled, half-formed words to put name to the heat that flared through him. As it was, he squirmed and moaned, drawing his feet up the blanket. Maker, Bull wasn’t even touching him, and his cock was leaking.

Bull fetched the oil, letting it drip down Cullen's balls and entrance. With his other hand he propped Cullen's leg up, resting the heel on his shoulder. Then he grabbed the mirror, tilting it this way and that. “How’s that, pretty one? Can you see?”

Blinking rapidly, Cullen nodded, staring at the mirror. He’d never even considered looking at himself this way. And then Bull’s hand was moving, sliding up Cullen's thigh. The pale gray of Bull’s finger stood out in sharp relief against the dark rose of Cullen's perineum.

Cullen almost choked, the combination of sensation and the view in the mirror overwhelming him. He watched as Bull’s finger found his entrance, circling it. When Bull pressed gently, Cullen whined. 

“Relax, precious one. Relax. Let me in.”

It seemed impossible, to simultaneously relax while watching his own body’s reaction. But somehow he managed, Bull slipping in up to the second knuckle. 

Once he'd gotten past the shock of both feeling and watching Bull stretch him open, Cullen began to feel... odd. Something was nagging in the back of his brain, a sickening familiarity that he couldn’t place. The physical pleasure hadn’t lessened, but it felt distant, unwelcome. He couldn’t seem to look away from the mirror, and the longer he looked, the less real it felt, like he was feeling something happening to someone else. 

He’d felt this before. Maker, no. No, it couldn’t be. Not now, not now. The panicked realization only fed the discomfort, making it sharper, tangible. Cullen squirmed. It wasn't real, it wasn't. In the mirror, the hand pulled away and he saw the gape of his own entrance - was it his, though? Or someone else? The elves had mirrors that demons could come through, he’d heard of it. It felt like there was a demon with him now, just outside his field of vision. It had chased him all these many years from Kinloch. It had found him. 

Tendrils of panic began to worm through him, his vision dimming to a narrow tunnel. His feet tried to gain purchase on the bed, heels digging in, twisting away from the hand in the mirror. He had to get away. He tried to scream but couldn’t, the sound muffled, the way it was in his worst nightmares. There were noises, a voice, but Cullen wasn’t listening. He knew better than to listen to demons.

Cullen kicked the mirror, shattering it. He saw blood on the bed - had he cut his foot? He didn’t feel it. He didn’t feel anything - the demon must have taken over. Oh course they had; he was weak. And now not just weak. He was dying. He was dying, and he couldn’t even pray.

Something grabbed at him, at his face. He fought, slapping and blocking and scratching. And then suddenly he was completely enveloped, his wrists held tight. Something was holding him down, something was covering his eyes. Something heavy and hot, with a beating heart that thudded against his own chest. Demons didn't have beating hearts, did they? There was a sound, a voice, low and rhythmic. It was utterly foreign, slicing through the old familiar panic, a set of phrases repeated over and over. A prayer. 

“Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra.”

Qunlat. 

The voice was speaking Qunlat. 

_ Bull.  _

Cullen stopped fighting, though he trembled uncontrollably. He couldn’t think, not yet. He reacted on a visceral level, his senses returning, recognizing the scent of horn balm, the feel of impossibly huge muscles under his palms, touchstones to which Cullen clung, grasping.

He tried to speak and couldn’t, the effort causing him to become aware of the ache in his jaw. The gag. He was gagged. He had  _ asked  _ Bull to gag him. 

Hands. He tried to move his hands, so that he could... Bull had told him to knock. His wrists were still held, looser now, but still firmly. Cullen formed a fist and tapped blindly.

A knuckle glanced over wood. He tried again, this time succeeding in making a sound.

The weight on his chest was less. “Kadan. You in there?” Bull’s breath was on Cullen's ear.

“Nnngh,” Cullen said, trying to nod. Suddenly he realized his foot hurt. 

“Gonna get up now, take your gag off. Okay?”

“Nnn-hnngh.”

Cullen felt Bull pull away, then felt him tug at the buckle of the gag. That, too, was pulled away. Cullen's jaw felt strangely loose, a deep ache beginning to press on his awareness, fighting with the pain in his foot.

“My foot,” he winced.

“On it,” Bull responded. “Getting up, but I’ll be right back. Just going over here, getting a cloth and some salve. Need to make sure there’s no glass in there, so I’m gonna hold a candle up close, okay?” Bull kept up a steady narration, his voice calm and reassuring as it moved around the room.

“Mmm.” 

He felt Bull tend to his foot, smearing it with a cool poultice then wrapping it in cloth. Cullen kept his hands over his eyes, not trusting what he was hearing to match with whatever he might see. The bed dipped beside him, then his body was once again swaddled, Bull surrounding him with heat and constancy. 

Cullen wasn’t sure what to say. A part of him was ashamed that he’d ruined things for Bul yet again. But another part of him knew that of anyone in Skyhold, Bull would understand what had happened. Mostly Cullen was tired, a bone-deep exhaustion which left him utterly spent. 

So he lay there, no thought for time passing, recentering his awareness. Bull was real; his breath hot and wine-scented on Cullen's neck, his skin warm and musky, the stub of his missing finger tangled in Cullen's sweat-soaked hair.

Tentatively, Cullen peeked his eyes open. There wasn’t much to see - most of his field of vision was taken up by Bull’s shoulder. “It was the mirror.” His voice was a croak.

“Kinda figured,” Bull rumbled. 

It was difficult to interpret his tone. It could have been neutral, but it just as easily could have been an accusation. “I didn’t know - Bull - I would’ve said, you need to know that.” Cullen pushed Bull away, searching out his face.

“Hey, hey, whoa. It’s alright. I get it,” Bull said, rising up to arm’s length. He reached out and slid his hand around the back of Cullen's neck. 

Cullen squinted up at him. “I... I don’t remember much from Kinloch. Sometimes, it just....” He sighed in exhaustion.

“I told you. I get it.” Bull leaned back down. “First time it happened to me, it was a smell. Two smells, actually. Paraffin and nutmeg. Fog warriors used to smell like that. They had these bottled fire bombs, launch ‘em outta nowhere. And I think they chewed the nutmeg, not sure. The bodies I saw had pretty terrible teeth. Anyway. Was in a market in Val Firmin. The lamp oil was sold right next to the spices. Someone dropped a bottle on the ground and I lost it.” 

Cullen reached up, clumsily lacing his fingers in with Bull’s. “Paraffin and nutmeg. Duly noted. If I ever have cause to put you in a deeply vulnerable sexual position, I’ll be sure to avoid those scents.”

Cullen felt, rather than heard, Bull’s laughter, his chest and stomach spasming, the breath huffing against his hair. “You know there’s people in Skyhold who think you’re serious all the time.”

“Yes, well, if you’re going to be spreading rumors now that our secret’s out, I’d rather you exaggerated my other sterling features. I have a reputation to maintain.” Cullen squirmed under Bull, stretching his cramped back. 

“Oh, trust me, your  _ sterling features _ do not need exaggeration.”

Cullen laughed at that, the sensation fully grounding him in the moment. “Thank you,” he said.

For a moment, he thought Bull might make another joke. But after a pause, he held Cullen tighter. “Glad I could help.”

“No one’s ever... been there. Not since Greenfell. And when it happened there, they’d simply sedate me. I’d wake up in my chambers alone, no idea what happened.” 

Bull made no move to let go. “You’ve been fighting and fighting all by yourself, and then you gave up lyrium on top of it. Don’t know where your strength comes from, but it’s fucking incredible.”

_ It comes from the Maker,  _ Cullen wanted to say. But he didn’t. Bull didn’t believe, after all, and Cullen's faith was a slippery thing. For all his devotion he could not easily defend his beliefs, the way Cassandra could. “In the mountains, when I... got sick,” Cullen hedged, “You knew to....” He couldn’t bring himself to say  _ you knew to flog me. _ It seemed so strange to put it into words. “But this time, you didn’t.”

“You were suffering from physical withdrawal the first time, your body getting eaten up looking for a sensation it wasn’t getting. So I substituted it for something else, something you couldn’t ignore. Just now, figured your mind was someplace else. If I hit you, you’d just experience it wherever you were. Instead I immobilized you, kept you from hurting yourself any further. Lotta times that state gets triggered by something familiar. So I wanted to give you something unfamiliar to react to. Plus a lotta people find the body contact helpful, though that's risky. Could just make things worse. Depends.” Bull sat up on his side, though he kept a hand on Cullen's chest.

Cullen had to admit that did make sense. And he did feel much more centered than he normally would so soon after an attack. He was exhausted, surely. And his state of mind was still strange. Now, instead of things seeming to be unreal, everything was hyper-real, his senses going overboard in cataloging every bit of information.

Bull spoke again. “How do you normally come out of it, if you’re all alone?”

“I pray,” Cullen said at once. “In Kinloch - the demons, they....”

“You don’t have to say,” Bull cut in.

“No, I want to. They could show me things. Take my form. I would see myself do... things... to other people, and see people do things to me and - I could feel it. As if it were happening. And it got so I couldn’t tell which was me and which was a demon. But I - I held to myself, because I could pray. The demons never prayed.” He blinked. He’d forgotten that. At this point, the urge to pray was second nature; he’d never questioned where it came from.

“Damn. No wonder you had trouble with the mirror.”

Cullen's mind was still stuck on the revelation. “You were praying. Just now. In Qunlat.” He turned to look at Bull.

“Not exactly,” Bull demurred. “It’s a canto. Like... a poem, that the Koslun set down. Words to live by.”

A smile slipped across Cullen's face, though he was too tired to maintain it. “And... that's not a prayer... how, exactly?”

“Fuck you,” Bull said, but he laughed and rubbed his hand on Cullen's belly. 

“I’m just pointing out the obvious,” Cullen laughed weakly. “What do the words mean, anyway?”

Bull paused, the grin eroding from his face. “Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against.”

Cullen considered that for a moment. “And the other word?”

“What other word?”

“Ka-tan, was it? I know ‘katoh’ means stop,” Cullen said. “Is it related?” He rolled to his side.

Bull’s brow knit together, and he swallowed. “No. Not related. It’s ‘kadan’. It’s... a term of endearment.”

_ Something’s troubling him.  _ Not for the first time, Cullen wished he had Bull’s knack for reading people. “It doesn’t mean ‘stupid one’, I hope?”

“Ha,” Bull laughed weakly. “No. No, it means... technically, it means, ‘center of one’s chest’.” Bull had stopped smiling. Before Cullen could puzzle out how such a word could be a term of endearment, Bull slid his hand up from Cullen's stomach and rested it over his heart.

“Oh,” Cullen said. “I... oh.” He wracked his brain for an equivalent phrase that wasn’t unbearably mushy. He certainly wasn’t going to call Bull his sweetheart or dearest or any of that nonsense. After a moment he realized Bull was watching him very carefully, his face guarded and blank. 

_ Say something, you idiot. _ “Kadan,” Cullen repeated, putting his hand over Bull’s heart. “I... like the sound of that.”

“Yeah?” Bull’s voice was a little higher than normal.

Cullen nodded. He couldn’t seem to stop nodding, in fact. “Very much.”

“Good.” Bull leaned in for a kiss. 

By all standards, it was chaste. The kind of kiss one has at the start of something. That it had come months and months after they’d kissed for the first time should have seemed out of place. But nothing about what had happened had made any sense, Cullen realized. So what if they did the beginning in the middle, after what was supposed to be the end? These were strange days. Now was what mattered, this impossible moment where Bull’s lips trembled and his heart danced under Cullen's hand. 

After a moment, Cullen started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’ve just realized. I owe my sister a letter. Maker’s breath, how am I going to explain all this?” 

Bull started to laugh as well. What’s worse, he didn’t seem to be able to stop, shaking the bed with jags of laughter.

“You’re no help,” Cullen complained.

“You’re asking  _ me _ for help with sending a late letter? Don’t have a great track record with that.”

Cullen snorted, collapsing into giggles. “Right. Well. Maybe....” He floundered.

“Maybe let’s get some sleep. Worry about it in the morning,” Bull suggested, putting out the lone candle and pulling Cullen to lay on top of him.

“Mmm,” Cullen agreed, yawning. After a moment, he murmured into Bull’s chest. “I’m sorry. That I couldn’t.”

“Don’t apologize, beautiful one.”

“Kadan.” Cullen tried out the word for size, tentative. He decided he liked it. It felt right. It fit.

“Kadan,” Bull agreed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the stars align and this updates on the same day as Stuck on the Puzzle, so you can enjoy all the Bull/Cullen flailing you can possibly stomach. :D


	19. In (Somewhat) Hushed Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's got some knickers in a twist. They just don't happen to be his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some smut. Have a lot of smut.

Glancing across the parchment, Cullen fought the urge to groan. The information that the spymaster had requested was going to take him the rest of the day and into the night to put together. He looked up at the scout awaiting his reply. Was it his imagination, or had he seen a lot of this  _ particular _ scout laterly?  “Tell Sister Leliana my report will be on her desk first thing tomorrow. That’ll be all. Wait - no, one more thing. If you happen upon a runner, send them my way, please. Thank you, Damson.” Cullen took a chance on the name.

“Dempsey, Commander.”

“Ah, my apologies. Of course.”

The scout withdrew with a salute. Cullen pulled out a scrap of paper and dashed off a note, letting Bull know he’d have to work late and would miss dinner. It was a bit of a disappointment. Bull had been in the field all week with the Chargers; Cullen had been looking forward to seeing him. The light tap on the door came just as he finished. “Enter,” Cullen said, signing the note.

A runner strode in. “Afternoon, Commander.” 

The runners occupied a strange gray area in the Inquisition. They were absolutely vital for day to day operations, but lacked the rank and formality of troops. As they carried some of the most personal and confidential messages throughout Skyhold, their major qualifying trait, aside from speed, was discretion. Like the other advisors, Cullen therefore allowed, even encouraged, a certain familiarity, though this was the first time Cullen had needed it. “Ah, Tilly. Yes, could you take this to the Iron Bull, please? He should be in the -”

The runner snorted. “Oh, I know where to find  _ The Bull,” _ she smirked, holding her hand out.

It was not the response Cullen was expecting. “Do you?” Cullen recovered, hoping it sounded playful and not accusatory.

“Oh, er.” Tilly cleared her throat, shifting her weight from foot to foot, not meeting his eyes. 

For the first time, Cullen took notice of her flaming red hair. He could almost hear Bull saying it:  _ Love me some redheads.  _ The Qunari had probably flirted with her - runners would be prime targets, after all. “Well. Then I expect this will be easy.” Cullen tried for a smile. 

“Er. I mean,” she hedged. “Not that I - I just - sorry. Sorry. I’ll get this to him at once. Right.” Tilly scurried off. 

Cullen tried not to think about the significance of the exchange. After that tumultuous day a few weeks ago, when Bull returned from the Storm Coast, Cullen had begun to ease himself into this new reality. So much had happened, the revelations stirring up a jumble of emotions he’d never experienced, much less examined. 

It was becoming clear to Cullen why Bull had sought to shield him from his reputation. After all, it was not common knowledge that Bull’s flirting was part of his persona as a spy. Cullen's hope had been that their relationship would be seen as a dalliance between soldiers, a not-uncommon occurrence. That hope was dwindling fast. 

Cullen tried not to think about what had just happened with Tilly. Her reaction was stronger than most; the pity in her eyes was clear. It was obvious she thought Cullen was merely one in a long line of conquests -- that Bull would surely tire of him soon enough and move on. Something in the pit of his stomach felt off, as he fought the urge to wonder if Bull was, in fact, still lying to him. Easier to lie to one man than to a whole keep, after all, especially if the man in question was inclined to look for reasons to believe he was special.

_ Focus on the report, you ass. _ Cullen snapped himself back to the parchment in front of him. The spymaster had requested a level of detail that demanded enough of his attention to pull him entirely into the present. 

Cullen wasn’t sure what time it was when he finally rose from his desk, stretching his back and neck. Before midnight, surely? Briefly, he considered raiding the kitchen for something hot. He could always beg a few ladles of whatever was cooking. The thought of making his way through the keep was enough to make him groan. Amazing, really, that a day spent sitting at a desk could cause more fatigue than a day’s hard march. 

Well, that's why he kept field rations in his office. At least, he thought he did. Cullen rifled through the storage chest behind his desk. Maker, it was a mess. The chest was full of... what appeared to be smallclothes, which clearly weren’t his. They were tangled into knots, the fabric wrenched tightly.

There was a knock on his door, and it opened on his beckon. Bull poked his head in. “Saw your light was still on.”

“Just finished,” Cullen said. “I believe I’ve had a visit from a Red Jenny, though I can’t quite fathom the significance of... all these.” He pulled out yet another knotted ball of fabric.

Bull walked in. He had a basket with him. “She’s saying you’ve got your knickers in a twist,” he concluded, after a glance at the pile of oddities.

“Oh. Yes. Quite amusing,” Cullen said with no trace of humor. Finally, he fished out a packet of hardtack.

Bull started to laugh.

“What’s so funny? Not these, surely.” Cullen toed the pile of twisted knickers.

“Well, yeah, kinda. But mostly you. Knew you hadn’t eaten. So you can put that crap away.” Bull plunked the basket on his desk and began unloading it. Wine, fruit, smoked meat, rolls, cheese, even a knob of fresh butter.

“Maker, Bull, you don’t really expect me to eat all that, do you?” 

“I’m here to help,” Bull grinned, rubbing his stomach. 

Cullen tossed the hardtack back in the chest. “That’ll keep,” he admitted. “I’m surprised the cooks were willing to part with such a feast.”

“I’m good with people,” Bull smirked, tearing a roll in half and buttering it.

Tilly’s reaction flashed through Cullen's mind. “So I’ve heard.” He helped himself to a pear and hunk of cheese.

Bull grunted noncommittally and reached for the wine. The silence that descended was awkward, to say the least. He shouldn’t still have doubts, much less reveal them to Bull.  _ Maker, why do you ever speak, Rutherford? It’s not your strong suit.  _

Yet somehow he found himself talking again. “Thank you. You didn’t need to do all this.”

Bull shrugged. “No problem.”

Cullen looked down at the half-eaten fruit in his hand. He suddenly felt very foolish for doubting Bull. To be certain, the uncertainty was still there, lurking in some dark corner, but now, with physical evidence of Bull’s esteem in his hand, it felt petty. “How was the field?”

Bull launched into a story about the Chargers training in the mountains. It was raucous, of course, and Cullen was fairly crying with laughter by the end.

“So then Rocky says, ‘gimme a minute, and we can go again’!” Bull hooted, slapping one huge hand on his knee.

“Please, stop, I’m going to choke to death if you keep that up,” Cullen gasped. 

Bull paused, staring with an incredulous smile on his face.

“No - wait - I didn’t mean it like  _ that _ -” Cullen tried to amend his statement, but Bull was already lost to another jag of laughter. 

“Oh, pretty boy, you are fucking hilarious sometimes.” Bull wiped his eye. “Which reminds me.” He crouched over and grabbed the tangle of knickers. “Dying to see who these belong to.”

“Not mine, that's all I know,” Cullen said, picking up a bunch of fabric and painstakingly unwrapping the knots. 

“Don’t go for the silky stuff, eh? Maybe you should,” Bull leered. “Feels pretty fucking incredible. Especially right after a good shave.”

Cullen's cheeks flamed. “I, um... imagine it would.” He succeeded in unraveling the fabric. “Any guesses?” He held up the flimsy garment.

“Not Cassandra’s,” Bull said at once.

Cullen raised his eyebrows. “I’m going to assume you have a non-intuitive reason for being so certain.”

“Ha! Something like that. Last mission, Sera kept trying to guess what color the Seeker’s britches were. Finally Cassandra admitted she doesn’t wear any. It was hilarious. In kind of a hot way.”

Despite himself, Cullen laughed. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Here,” Bull held out his hand, beckoning for the garment. He gave the cloth a cursory once over. “They’re clean at least.”

Before Cullen could remark on that, Bull held the fabric up to his face and smelled it. “Augh, Bull, what - that's disgusting!” 

“What? They’re clean,” Bull repeated. “These are Dorian's.” He tossed the pair to the side.

Cullen's stomach flopped over. His skin went hot and cold all at once. It wasn’t like the vague, sinister mix of jealousy and insecurity he’d gotten from Tilly. This was something else - the heat of lust and the ice cold-burn of shame. “Are they?” Cullen croaked, his voice weak. 

Bull was already reaching for the second pair of knickers, but froze at Cullen's reaction, his hand outstretched. His gaze raked over Cullen, his face that blank mask he wore when he was assessing a situation. “Qunari have a pretty acute sense of smell. Though the ‘Vint wears enough scented oil, not sure I even need it. You could probably smell it yourself.” 

The thought of burying his face in Dorian's smalls sent another pang of lust through him. “I see. I - I did not know that,” Cullen babbled, resuming his work untangling the fabric. “That’s very interesting. I’ve often thought more acuity with scent would be a boon.”

“Cullen.” Bull’s voice cut through the stream of nonsense. “It’s alright. I’m not jealous or anything.”

Cullen swallowed hard. “There’s absolutely nothing to be jealous of, I assure you.”

“Cullen. Kadan. Just because we’re -- just because there’s an  _ us _ doesn’t mean you can’t be attracted to other people.” 

There didn’t seem to be any way to respond to that without admitting that Cullen was attracted to the mage. It wasn’t overpowering, normally. Usually it was simply a fact of life: Dorian occupied space in the category of “friend” and “attractive person”, and Cullen kept the two basically separate. Usually. Apparently the rules fled out the window when faced with a handful of the mage’s silky underclothes.  _ Maker, they must look absolutely spectacular. _ Cullen cleared his throat and kept his attention focused on the cloth. After a moment it became clear that Bull expected some sort of answer. “I... don’t know what to say to that, frankly.”

“Did something happen? You’re more jumpy than normal all of a sudden.”

Taking a deep breath, Cullen chose his words carefully. “When... ah. When I thought it was over between us, Dorian, uhm... may have said some things.” 

“Oh yeah? What kinds of things?” Bull leaned back in his chair, grinning widely.

Somehow that made Cullen bolder. “He - well first off he said he’d been thinking of taking you up on your offer.” Cullen blinked. He’d forgotten that. “Why  _ did _ you flirt with him so much?”

Bull shrugged. “Mainly because it was the easiest way to make him comfortable. He’s spent his whole life thinking of Qunari a certain way. Wanted to poke a hole in that, get him thinking about me as not just a mindless brute. Keep him off balance, make him work for it, so he couldn’t rely on his prejudices. At least at first. Then I did it because it was fun,” he admitted with a little grin.

The depth and nuance of it shouldn’t have surprised Cullen. Bull had proved time and again that he was a master at manipulating people. “Well, you certainly got him thinking. Decided that perhaps he would go after easier prey, I think,” Cullen said. 

Bull grunted. “Since we’re on the subject, something about that you might want to know. You heard what happened in Redcliffe?”

The phrase ‘something you should know’ rang alarm bells in Cullen's mind. “Magister Pavus was there to confront Dorian.”

“I’d’ve used the term ‘ambush’, but that's just me. Yeah. So that night, Dorian hit the bottle. Pretty hard. Ferelden whisky, too, not wine. He was pretty drunk by the time he came to me.”

Cullen's stomach clenched. It seemed all but inevitable that Bull was about to reveal that he’d been intimate with Dorian. Instantly, his system was flooded with opposing emotions: apprehension that Bull had lied yet again, and, startlingly, a massive jolt of lust at the thought of Dorian having sex with Bull. Cullen forced a breath into his lungs and nodded, shoving both emotions aside. 

Bull continued. “He was a mess. Crying, the whole thing. Couldn’t stop sobbing about how lonely he was, how badly he wanted someone.”

Cullen took a large swallow of wine, bracing himself. “Did he... er, try....” he hedged.

“Nah. Maybe he was a little handsy when he first showed up, but once he got talking, think he just wanted a shoulder to lean on and someone to cuddle. He’s a good guy under all that bluster, you know? Anyway, he passed out in my bed. Just in case - you know. We were in the inn. Sure someone saw him leave the next morning. Didn’t want you to think anything happened.”

Cullen nodded thoughtfully, willing his gut to relax. “I appreciate you telling me,” he said finally. Shouldn’t it have been a relief, knowing Bull was purposefully revealing things to him? Especially given that Cullen himself was attracted to Dorian, it was unworthy of him to still feel confusion. He tugged another set of smalls free. They were the same cut and fabric as the first. “Did Sera just... steal all of Dorian's knickers?”

“There’s gotta be a half-dozen here.” Bull gathered up the tangle and sniffed at it, then began to laugh. “Shit, how long you think he's gone without?”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen said, laughing as well. “We should probably return these. I have no idea how long they were in the chest.”

“Funny thing - I was hoping maybe you’d wanna come back to my room. Maybe we can drop these off on the way.” Bull grinned.

“What’s wrong with staying here?” Cullen glanced upwards. 

“You really expect me to believe you requisitioned yourself a larger bed than that cot in Haven?”

“Fair point,” Cullen rose to his feet and stretched. “Maker, I’m exhausted.”

“Gonna be a lot more tired when I’m done with you, pretty boy.” Bull yanked him close for a kiss. 

It turned into more than a kiss. Cullen found himself shoved back to the desk, his legs wrapped around Bull’s torso as the Qunari ground against him, taking possession of Cullen's mouth with his own. 

Cullen was straining against his trousers in an embarrassingly short time, glad for the distraction from the previous conversation. He briefly considered warning Bull how close he was. But he didn’t. He was relatively sure Bull already knew Cullen's body better than he did himself. And the thought of ceding control of this small moment to Bull was enough to make Cullen whimper.

Bull pulled away. “That’s what I like to see,” he said, breathing hard. He drew a finger across the tightened fabric at Cullen's crotch. “All this, just for me.”

“Always,” Cullen whispered, fuzzy headed. 

Groaning, Bull leaned down for another kiss, quick and scorching, keeping their bodies well apart. “C’mon. Let’s make our delivery.”

Attempting to keep his feet from stumbling, Cullen followed Bull out to the battlements. The Qunari wanted to leave Dorian's knickers on his chair in the library. 

Cullen objected. “Bull, no, we can’t do that. Leliana will surely see us and that is  _ not _ a conversation I want to have in the War Room.”

“Pssh. All right fine, have it your way, Chantry Boy,” Bull snickered. He ducked down a side door. “We’ll see if Messere is at home.”

Cullen fought the urge to ask why Bull knew where Dorian's quarters were. Surely, he knew much of what there was to know about Skyhold. He had been a spy, after all. Asking about it would only reveal that he was concerned. And if Bull wasn’t jealous or insecure, then surely Cullen had no standing to be so. Yet the lump of doubt in Cullen's chest seemed larger. 

Bull stopped dead as they turned a corner, holding a finger to his lips. Cullen complied, though he heard nothing. Bull grinned, that slow, wide smile which Cullen had come to know so well. He put a hand on Cullen's shoulder, stilling his forward motion. Moving more silently than Cullen though possible for such a massive person, Bull crept to the entrance.

It was odd, seeing him listen at the door. His horns didn’t allow him to get close, of course, so Bull leaned in face-first, as if he was smelling the wood. His grin now epically dirty, he crooked his finger at Cullen. 

When Cullen got within a few steps of the door, he understood the reason for the sneaking. There were sounds coming from the room. Panting gasps, mostly, punctuated by soft moans.

Maker’s breath. Cullen stopped breathing. Did Dorian have a lover? Wide-eyed, Cullen stared at Bull. 

Bull gave an infinitesimal shake of his head, holding his finger up to his lips in warning. Then there was another sound: the sound of a page turning, followed quickly by a hiss of pleasure. 

He was  _ reading. _ By Andraste, Dorian was reading something and pleasuring himself. Cullen winced as sympathetic arousal flooded through him. It had been a long time since Cullen had stolen a few moments with his confiscated smut, but his body remembered it quite well.

Bull’s smile, meanwhile, could have lit the hallway. He looked positively gleeful. That is, until he saw the erection currently re-asserting itself in Cullen's breeches. Then the glee was glossed with heat. 

The room adjacent to Dorian's had yet to be restored. The door was broken, hanging half-open, and the dim chamber full of dusty junk. Bull yanked Cullen by the hand, pulling him inside.

It was absolutely stupid. They were only partially hidden by the door; anyone could walk down the hall. Granted, the chances of that were very low, but it could still happen. Bull pushed Cullen against the wall. Some of the mortar was missing, allowing Cullen to hear Dorian with even greater clarity. Now he could hear the sound of a hand moving slick and slow over skin.

Bull tipped Cullen's face up, a question in his eye. Though Cullen was essentially pinned in place, the fingers under his chin were the only point of contact between them. Bull’s face was serious, patient. 

After a moment, Cullen realized Bull was looking for his consent. Cullen nodded fast, licking his lips.  

Bull rested his hand against Cullen's cock and held it steady. Then he tipped his head to the side and waited, watching Cullen. Tentatively, Cullen rocked against him. Bull’s smile widened, so Cullen did it again. Bull was nodding now, staring at Cullen with blatant hunger.

In the room next door, Dorian appeared to be taking his time. His moans were quiet, just breath with a hint of an edge behind it. It was a slow rhythm, and Cullen matched it. Bull put a finger in his mouth, pushing in and out with the same steady pulse.

The build was maddeningly slow. It was all the more frustrating hearing Dorian bring himself to the edge, over and over. Cullen let his eyes fall closed, imagining the mage. He’d be naked, surely. No one takes that long to pleasure themselves without bothering to remove their clothing. And he was reading, so there was light. Candles, perhaps, or golden magelights, burnishing his dark skin. Bull’s earlier comment about shaving leapt to mind. Dorian was fastidious, after all. The idea that he might be smooth, that his fingers could slip easily over his oiled cock, sweeping over his balls and entrance almost drew a sound to Cullen's lips. 

Instead he bit down on Bull’s fingers. Not hard, but he had to do  _ something.  _ Bull withdrew his hand as Dorian gave a particularly ragged whimper. Cullen's mouth opened in a silent shout, his eyes flying open.

Bull pulled Cullen's head to the crook of his neck. “Hard as you need,” he whispered, almost soundless. 

Cullen sank his teeth into the skin, willing himself to be quiet. There was another page turned next door. “Oh, fuck,” Dorian breathed. “Fuck.” There was a clunk as the book slid to the floor, and then the tempo of Dorian's hand increased.

Bull’s hand was no longer passive. Instead, he stroked, dragging his hands across the fabric. With a moment’s fumbling, he reached into Cullen's trousers, jerking at his cock. 

Cullen hoped vainly that the sound of his own breath wasn’t carrying through the wall. Dorian was whispering to himself, bed creaking. 

It took a moment for the sound to register. Perhaps there  _ was _ someone with him, after all? And then Cullen realized:  _ Maker, he’s fucking up into his hand. _

The thought of Dorian's hips arching off the bed was too much. Cullen gasped quietly and came, his body spasming into Bull’s hand. Next door, Dorian also came, groaning loudly enough to be heard in the hallway. 

Cullen leaned back against the wall. Bull grinned and held up his hand, licking Cullen's spend from his fingers. Cullen could do little but gather his breath and watch, transfixed.

Bull leaned forward. “Stay,” he mouthed. 

Not that Cullen's legs could take him anywhere, but still, when Bull grabbed the bundle of cloth and headed back down the hallway the way they’d come, Cullen's heart thudded. What was he doing?

After a moment, he had his answer. Whistling and striding down the hall, Bull rapped on Dorian's door. “Hey, ‘Vint, I got something you need,” he called through the wood.

Cullen smiled as he heard Dorian's indignant squawk of surprise. There was a few seconds of scrambling, as the mage no doubt pulled on his clothes, and then the door was yanked open. “What the hell do you want?”

“Oh, just found these. Thought maybe you’d like ‘em. Look to be your size, and fancy and all.”

“My - what - where did you find those?” Dorian's voice was indignant.

“Ah ah,” Bull said. From the dance of shadows on the hallway wall, Cullen could see Bull hoist the smalls out of Dorian's grasp. “Ask me nice, and I might tell you.” Cullen heard Bull walk into Dorian's room without being invited. “Ooh, doing a little reading, are we?”

“Bull I demand you tell me the meaning of this.” Dorian slammed the door. “Give me that.”

There was some scuffling; Cullen guessed Bull had grabbed the book. “The Dominion of the Seas,” he read. “Oooh, ‘Vint. Very racy stuff. This the one about the Tal-Vashoth pirate who captures a magister, then he and the first mate have their way with him? Ow!”

The mild cry of pain accompanied the sound of flesh on flesh. Dorian had slapped him. “Give me  _ that _ and those.” 

“All right all right. Didn’t have to electrocute me.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Dorian chided him. “I’ve seen you take jolts a hundred times stronger in the field. Anyway, what are you doing here? Don’t you have a gorgeous blond to ravish?”

“He’s recovering,” Bull said. The bed creaked heavily as Bull sat on it. 

“I see that,” Dorian said. For a moment Cullen panicked, thinking he’d been discovered, but then Dorian continued. “That’s a hell of a bite mark. What did you do to the poor man?” 

“Not just me,” Bull said, the grin audible in his voice.

_ Maker, no, is he going to tell?  _ Fear and a hefty dose of excitement shot through Cullen. For the briefest of instants, he  _ wanted _ to be found out. 

Dorian groaned. “Please don't tell me you entertain guests. Bad enough seeing him so happy. I don’t need to think about him being passed around like some great Ferelden treat.”

“Aww, you lonely, big guy?” 

“You know very well that I am. As if I didn’t make it disastrously clear in Redcliffe.” 

“Told you to stay away from the strong stuff.”

“Yes, well, I am rather good at ignoring sage advice. I’m just lucky you didn’t hold my drunken escapades against me.”

“Nah,” Bull said expansively. “That was some fucked-up shit you had to deal with. I get it.”

There was a pause. Cullen was struck by the difference in tone Dorian took with Bull when he wasn’t present. It was much warmer than he’d expected, given how protective of Cullen the mage seemed to be. It was somewhat of a relief, actually, though it was puzzling as well. Another few particles of doubt trickled down, merging with the cold lump waiting in his gut.

Dorian spoke again. “Well. I’d best let you get back to your lover before the poor dear gets cold and lonely.”

“Yeah.” The bed creaked again as Bull stood.

“And Bull, please take this in the nicest possible sense, but if you hurt him again, you know I’ll kill you. Slowly. From the inside out. And then I’ll raise you and kill you from the outside in.” 

“Dorian.” Bull’s voice was serious. “I care too much to let that happen again.” There was another pause. “Plus you think  _ you’d  _ kill me? Get in line, buddy. I’m already on notice from Leliana and Cassandra.”

Dorian snorted. “Are you ever going to tell me how you came into possession of my underclothes?”

“Oh. That. Yeah, Sera stuffed ‘em into Cullen's trunk.”

_ “What?”  _

“Damn, are you - you’re blushing! Aww, how cute is that. Anyway, gotta go.” The door opened, and Cullen flattened himself against the wall. 

“Yes yes, your Prince awaits, I get it.”

“Don’t worry, ‘Vint. You’ll find your pirates soon enough.”

“Eugh. Spare me.” The door closed again.

Cullen waited for a full minute after Bull walked down the hall, then crept after as quick as he could. Bull was waiting for him in the Great Hall. Cullen couldn’t decide if he wanted to scold Bull or kiss him.

Bull smiled brightly. “There you are.”

“Er. Yes.” Cullen laughed. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he felt a bit giddy. “That was....”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was. Come on. You look like you’re gonna fall over. Josephine’ll never forgive me if I have to carry you up to my room. It’d take one hell of a whisper campaign to keep those rumors down.”

“She could just get in line,” Cullen said.

Bull turned and looked at him, confused.

“Behind Leliana, Cassandra, and Dorian,” Cullen explained. “You should probably add my sister to the list, as well. She’ll be getting her letter soon, I should think.”

“Fuck, I gotta watch my back. Maybe hire some bodyguards,” Bull mused.

“I might know someone,” Cullen offered. “I can put in a good word.”

“Yeah? You’d do that for me?” Bull grinned. 

“Perhaps.” Cullen pretended to think it over. “Though I hear he lost in the practice ring recently, so....”

It was late, but Skyhold never truly slept. So there were easily a dozen people milling through the Great Hall, all of which heard and saw Bull collapse with laughter, clapping Cullen on the shoulder. Cullen grinned, wishing he could simply enjoy the moment for what it was. Not that he needed an excuse to make Bull laugh; the sound was its own reward. A little snarl of resentment pulled at him, choking his own laughter down his throat, as he calculated the vectors of gossip.  A part of him hoped that the eyes trained on them would see how Bull seemed to enjoy his company, see that whatever this was, it was real and true and genuine. Perhaps if the pity in those eyes disappeared, Cullen could believe it to be true himself.  

Soon enough, however, the only eye watching him was Bull’s. Once they made it to Bull’s room, his gaze devoured Cullen, savoring every inch of exposed skin as Bull peeled his clothing away. “You were so good, pretty boy. So nice and quiet,” he rumbled, slowly walking a circle around the now-naked Cullen.

“I’ve... had lots of practice,” Cullen admitted. He was trembling just a bit, and not just from the cold. Now that the thrill of the moment had passed, Cullen felt guilty that he’d eavesdropped on Dorian in such a manner, not to mention feeling conflicted about getting aroused about his friend in the first place. The guilt was mild, however, which then led to another layer of misgivings, that he didn't feel worse about the whole thing.

Luckily, Bull required Cullen's full attention, as he hummed in approval. “I bet. Damn, seeing you like that, trying not to be caught, you know how badly I wanted to flip you around, press you up against the wall, fuck you right then and there?” Bull was standing behind him now, his breath hot in Cullen's ear. The heat of his skin seemed to roll off him in waves, warming Cullen's back. 

Cullen wanted to lean back, press against him, but he held himself still. Bull would let him know what he wanted. All Cullen had to do was obey. The guilt began to slip off him, till he felt truly naked.

“Wanted it so bad, pretty boy. But I can’t be quiet. Not like you. Not when I have this ass all to myself.” Bull slid his palm over Cullen's skin, chuckling when Cullen hissed and clenched his muscles against the contact. “Nothing stopping me now, though. Go on. Up against the wall. Palms on the stone.”

Cullen tottered forward at Bull’s gentle push. Breathing shallow and fast, Cullen put his hands on the wall and waited. 

He heard Bull rifle through his bedside table, and then Bull was behind him again. The Qunari kicked his feet apart to just past shoulder width. “Just like that, pretty boy. Hope you’re comfy. This isn’t gonna be quick.”

Cullen whimpered, resting his forehead against the wall. His cock was starting to twitch, as if he hadn’t just come a half hour before. The oil dripped down the cleft of his ass, sloppy and indulgent. 

“Mmm, that's so nice,” Bull said, almost to himself. He pressed one finger against the band of muscle. “Nice and slick. So good, pretty boy. Want you to open yourself up for me. Move.”

Exhaling in relief, Cullen started rocking back against Bull’s finger. It burned; he was going too fast, but he didn’t care. He just needed  _ more.  _

“Fuck, that's nice. You want it pretty bad, huh?” Bull’s voice was dark and rich. “Look at you. Damn.” 

Another finger joined the first. Cullen's cry warbled in his throat. 

“Easy, easy,” Bull warned. “Nice and easy, beautiful one. I’ll give you what you need soon enough.”

Panting, Cullen nodded and attempted to regulate the motion of his body. After a few stutters, he settled into a pace, rolling his hips and arching his back. “Bull.” Cullen wasn’t sure if it was a plea or a prayer.

“That’s good. So good, kadan. Almost ready for me. Just one more. You want one more?”

“Please, Bull.” A second later Cullen moaned, biting at his forearm to temper the stretch. His cock was rallying, brushing against the cold stone as Bull’s fingers flexed against his prostate.

When Bull pulled away, the cool air against Cullen's back and the sudden feeling of emptiness were almost too much to bear. He didn’t move his hands, though he couldn’t help but arch backwards, chasing the heat and touch.

Bull hummed. Cullen could hear him slicking himself up, no doubt slathering his cock with oil. And then the Qunari pressed up against him. Not just the tip of his cock; his whole body, curled around Cullen, his dick sliding along Cullen's cleft. 

“You want it?” The question was accompanied by a nip to the top of Cullen's ear and a maddening sliding thrust. “How about you tell me, pretty boy? How about you beg?”

The first sound from Cullen's lips was a wordless moan. “Please. Please, Bull. I want - I want you.” Even after everything they’d done, it was difficult for Cullen to form the words.

“Yeah?” Bull teased him with another slide of his cock.

“Please? I need it, Bull.”

“Oh, you  _ need _ me now. Not just want. Hmm.” Bull ground against him.

“Bull.” Cullen almost laughed, knowing Bull would continue to tease until he’d gotten Cullen to say something truly filthy. “Please - fu - fuck me.” He gasped the words out.

“That’s it, pretty boy.” Bull’s cock pressed into him, pushing past the entrance. “Damn. So tight. So good. This is what I wanted, pretty boy. Mmm, that ass, so perfect for me.” He pulled Cullen's hips a few inches back.

Bull held true on his threat. It was, indeed, slow. Cullen could feel every ripple and ridge until Bull was hilted, and then feel it all in reverse. As always, it was too much, and somehow it just made Cullen want more. 

And somehow Bull gave it to him. After a few moments of excruciatingly slow thrusts, he once again rested his body against Cullen, surrounding him with heat and scent, rocking in and out. Bull hummed and groaned in time, the quiet noises mingled with the breath in Cullen's ear.

Cullen found himself whimpering, the sounds shaping into words. “Bull. It’s so good. It’s so good.”

“Know it is, kadan. Wanna keep you like this forever, pretty one.” Bull tipped Cullen's chin, twisting his head to the side for a sloppy kiss.

The sensation of Bull’s tongue, the taste of him, triggered some wellspring of heat in Cullen. He moaned, bucking backwards, trying for more. Bull gave it to him, snapping his hips, fucking him hard and sharp. One of his hands came around and began to stroke Cullen's cock. When Bull slid the pad of his thumb across the leaking slit, he moaned loud into Cullen's mouth.

“Gonna make me come,” Bull said, his lips sliding against Cullen's cheek. “Fuck, pretty boy. So fucking good. You wanna come again?”

Cullen groaned, nodding vaguely.

Bull bit his earlobe, growling. “Wanna hear you. Wanna hear you come.” 

There were no words left. Cullen merely whined, sharp high-pitched moans as Bull slammed into him. The sounds pushed Bull over the edge, his pace faltering with one, two huge thrusts, pulling Cullen's hips to him. His other hand pumped, tight and fast. “Come on, pretty boy.”

Cullen's hips stuttered as he spurted into Bull’s hand, shouting. 

Reality pressed in far too soon. The cold stone sent chills into Cullen's hands, and of course the inevitable dripping sensation was somewhat unpleasant. They cleaned up and retreated to Bull’s bed. 

Cullen was beyond exhausted. Bull was saying something, the kinds of reassurances and praise he always offered after sex. Cullen sank into it, murmuring affirmative noises as he squirmed, getting comfortable. The muffled bell tolled midnight in the keep. Cullen's only thoughts were to say a prayer of thanks to Andraste that it wasn’t any later. He had six hours of warmth and comfort, six hours without confusing thoughts and doubt and desires to trouble him, six hours to immerse himself in this strange world he and Bull had built for themselves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's probably clear by now I have no idea what I'm doing. You people are all saints for reading so much of this silliness.


	20. A Matter of Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen learns a few things about fashion, a certain scout, and his own limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, heads up: Cullen makes some pretty dodgy choices regarding his safeword in this chapter, withholding it in a manner many would deem to be not best practices.

“Are we truly still discussing this? I thought the matter settled.” Cullen scowled at the fabric swatches littering the war table. “Royal blue. With silver trim.”

“Commander. The manner in which we present ourselves at Halamshiral will have far-reaching consequences. One wouldn’t simply select armor at random before heading to battle; it must be tailored to one’s strengths and the enemy’s weakness.” Leliana ran her hands through the pile, pulling out two nearly-identical patches of bright green fabric.

“Surely you jest,” Josephine frowned.

“No? A link to the Breach, I thought. Perhaps not.”

“Shall I fetch Madame de Fer?” Cullen sighed. 

“She’s on her way,” Josephine noted, her attention focused on the fabric. “Oh! But you could collect Dorian. His insight of Tevene fashion could be useful.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Yes, fine. Let’s have our most powerful mages designing costumes for us when they could be using their talents to finding a way to defeat Corypheus.”

“Commander!” Leliana’s eyes flashed dangerously. “This  _ is _ a way to defeat Corypheus, and make no mistake.”

Cullen ground his teeth together. Political strength was one thing, but darkspawn magisters from the beginning of time were not defeated by snappy uniforms.  _ Pick your battles, Rutherford.  _ “Of course. You’re absolutely correct, Sister Leliana. I will, of course, cede this matter to those better suited. I apologize.” He gave a tight bow.

“Ooh, very nicely done,” Josephine cooed. “You’ve been practicing.”

Dorian was in his alcove in the library, leaning by the window. He had a book in his hand, though he wasn’t reading. Instead he stared out into the courtyard. Cullen was struck by his profile. There was a softness to his face that was rare to see, a pensive longing. 

“Admiring the view?” Cullen walked over to see what had grabbed Dorian's attention. 

“Cullen! What are you doing here?” Dorian hastily attached a smile to his face.

“I’ve been sent to fetch you.” Cullen glanced out the window and raised an eyebrow. Bull was in the practice ring, sparring with Krem. It appeared as though they’d just finished. They were both sweating, and Bull was patting his lieutenant on the back as they walked towards the tavern.

“I... er. Watching Krem, you know. The Tevinter style of fighting. Makes me homesick,” Dorian babbled. 

Cullen bit back a joke about Qunari pirates, remembering at the last possible second that he wasn’t supposed to know about that. “Of course.”

Dorian had flushed and was doing a terrible job keeping the guilt from showing on his face. “Yes, you know, I trained in quarter-staff for a time. All the rage for a bit among us dashing mage types.”

Cullen laughed. “Dorian. Please. It’s fine. You don’t have to - it’s fine.” The parallels to Bull’s words the other night drew out another chuckle. “I think he’d be offended if you  _ didn’t _ look.”

“You’re right about that. The man’s a colossal show off.” Dorian adjusted the high collar on his outfit without a hint of irony. “So they’ve got you on fetch duty? Soon you’ll be carrying Leliana’s slippers in your mouth.”

“Your singular talents for fashion are needed, I believe.” Cullen drawled. “Come on. If I take too long retrieving you I’ll get no cookie and pat on the head when I get back.”

After delivering Dorian to the war room, Cullen was summarily dismissed. He considered heading to his office to work for another hour before dinner. For once, though, his desk was clean. It was the perfect opportunity to get some time in with the training dummies. 

A few moments later he was down in the courtyard. Cassandra was hacking at a dummy as if it had personally offended her. Cullen waited for her to finish a maneuver and pause before approaching. “Seeker.”

“Commander,” she nodded, not lowering her weapon. 

For perhaps a half hour, they practiced side-by-side, not speaking. Eventually Cassandra took a break, retrieving a waterskin from under the tree. She drank deeply, wiping the sweat from her face. 

Cullen was beginning to tire as well, but his pride didn’t allow him to break. He pushed through for another half hour. Cassandra stayed, watching him, offering critiques where appropriate. When he lowered his sword, he was dripping sweat. She held out the waterskin.

Cullen drank deeply and handed it back. “Office life is not agreeing with me, it seems,” he admitted. 

She did not smile at the joke, but Cullen hadn’t really expected her to. “It is a necessary sacrifice. And you still handle the blade better than most.”

“If it’s half as well as you, I’ll be happy.”

Cassandra almost smiled. “Then be happy.” She looked over the courtyard; there was no one within earshot. “You have been... well?”

Cullen wasn’t sure if she was referring to the lyrium or to Bull, but in either case, the answer was the same. “The Maker has seen fit to allow me some small comforts, yes.”

Now Cassandra did grin. “I do not think the Maker had anything to do with what I was talking about.”

Cullen laughed. “You might be right. I’ve been told some threats were made on my behalf. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Cassandra cleared her throat, her posture stiffening. “It was not a threat. It was merely a reminder.”

“A reminder?”

“That hearts are not to be toyed with,” Cassandra clarified. 

“A welcome sentiment, if unnecessary. I can handle my affairs, Seeker.” Cullen ran his hands through his sweat-soaked hair, his good mood rapidly dissipating. 

“I do not doubt it, Cullen. And I am glad to see you well.” 

Cullen took his leave, heading to the baths. The conversation shouldn’t have galled him, but he couldn’t seem to shake his bitter mood. This trend towards his colleagues taking an interest in the proceedings was getting stale. Leliana’s concern probably had little to do with Cullen personally and everything to do with the Inquisition as a whole. Dorian's warnings to Bull, he could at least understand; the mage had seen him upset, after all. But Cassandra had not. The Seeker was surely motivated by friendship. Still, Cullen was not a child. Did she think that he couldn’t handle it? That he was so innocent?

As he bathed, Cullen allowed his anger to fester, conveniently letting his bad mood become louder than the tiny voice that said that yes, he was, in fact, naive when it came to such things, and was already well over his head. And that perhaps if his friends were concerned, and the rest of Skyhold laughing up their sleeves or shooting him pitying glances, there might be reason for it. 

His bath finished, Cullen strode through the Great Hall on his way to meet Bull. “My dear, you look as if you’ve swallowed a thundercloud. Quite intimidating.” Vivienne’s voice floated down from the balcony. 

“Good evening, Madame,” Cullen mustered a polite bow.

“Josephine was right. You  _ have _ been practicing,” she smirked. “You’ll be glad to know we’ve settled on a uniform. You’ll look smashing, darling. Might even take the edges off that scowl.”

Cullen purposefully frowned deeper. “What scowl?” 

Vivienne’s laugh was throaty. “Absolutely delightful. Enjoy your evening, Commander.”

Bull was in his usual corner of the tavern. As always, his face lit up when he saw Cullen, and the Commander felt foolish for harboring doubts. “Hey. Was just about to send a rescue team. Thought maybe you’d drowned.”

Cullen fought the urge to ask how Bull knew he’d been bathing. “Not tonight. Though I almost drowned in fabric this afternoon.” Cullen glanced at the bar. “Does Cabot still have the bitter, I wonder?”

“Still picking out the uniform for the Winter Palace?”

Cullen nodded, giving his order to the barmaid. “They’ve agreed to something. At least according to Vivienne.”

“Oh no. What is she spouting now?” Dorian ambled up, heaving himself into a chair. “I demand you tell me so I can have an opportunity to redress the matter.”

“That you settled on a design for Halamshiral,” Cullen said. 

“Oh. Well, she’s right. It was hard fought, however. She was insisting they should be white, of all things.” Dorian scoffed.

“Of course she would,” Bull rumbled. “She looks fucking amazing in white. Plus it’s a tie to the Divine.”

“Er, yes, actually, that was the thrust of her argument. I, of course, argued for -”

“Lemme guess. Black. Intimidating, classic, flattering, especially on you. And a big ol’  _ fuck you _ to Chantry traditionalists,” Bull reasoned. He turned his head casually, winking subtly at Cullen. 

The barmaid delivered Cullen's drink while Dorian spluttered. “What happened to the blue and silver?” Cullen asked Dorian. “I thought that was agreed on ages ago.”

“Well apparently -” Dorian began to answer.

“Nah, wouldn’t want blue.” Bull cut in again. “Blue’s the color of peace. And silver’s a second-best metal. What you need is a color that's brave and bold, militaristic. And something that's gonna look great on Miranda. Scarlet. And gold. Keep a little of the blue, maybe, for balance. Like a sash.” 

“What - how -” Dorian's eyes were wide as saucers as he stared at Bull. 

Cullen began to snicker into his tankard.

“You  _ ass,” _ Dorian accused, smacking Bull’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “You knew all along.”

“Yeah. Seamstress told me. Sounded good though, right?” Bull grinned.

“Ah yes, your network of lusty informants. I should have known.” Dorian raised a disapproving eyebrow.

“Don’t worry, big guy. You’re still on top when it comes to court fashion.”

“Well I  _ do _ like to be on top,” Dorian purred automatically. “Er, that is... well,” he faltered, coughing nervously, his eyes darting between Bull and Cullen.

Bull’s attention had been caught by something out in the central room of the tavern, and wasn’t looking when he responded. “Nothing wrong with that. Like me a top sometimes. Depending on the top, of course.” When he looked back, he caught sight of the awkward glances. “Oh, sorry. Are we... not flirting any more? Because Cullen and me are, uh....” He made a vaguely filthy gesture in Cullen's direction. “You know. Doing it.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen swore, rubbing his forehead. He hadn’t known quite what to do about the fact that he’d been exposed to one of Dorian's more intimate moments. So, as in much of their relationship, Cullen had followed Bull’s lead. Bull hadn’t brought up the incident again, but neither was he shying away from the mage. A little laugh escaped Cullen's lips and he chanced a look at Dorian.

The mage no longer looked stricken, but neither did he look confident. “Well  _ this _ is awkward. Far be it from me to stand in the way of flirtation.”

“Sorry. Guess we shoulda talked about that.” Bull shifted uncomfortably. “Not very good at this, uh, type of thing.” He made another vague gesture between himself and Cullen.

Cullen let his hand slide through his hair to the back of his neck. The whole thing was just so ridiculous. “ _ You’re _ not very good at this? Bull, I challenge you to find two men in Skyhold  _ less _ good at this than we are.” 

“Hey now. Cole and Jim.” Bull rattled off the names. 

Dorian howled with laughter, and Cullen dissolved into snorting giggles, relieved that the moment had passed. “All right, the first, I’ll give you. But who the hell is Jim?”

At that, Dorian and Bull looked at each other, frozen in shocked amusement. Then they lost all shreds of control, doubling over in their chairs, slapping at each other in shared hilarity.

“What? Who is it? Tell me.” Cullen's demand was weakened somewhat by the goofy smile on his face.

“He - he doesn’t know who Jim is!” Dorian slapped his knee, cackling.

“Shhh - shh,” Bull chided him through his laughter. “Not so loud. It’ll break poor Jim’s heart.”

“Andraste’s ass, just tell me,” Cullen said, now losing his patience.

_ “Jim,” _ Bull said, stressing the name as if it meant anything. “The Scout? That follows you fucking everywhere? Fuck, Cullen, the man’s like a damn mabari, and you never noticed? Shit, that's so fucking sad,” he said, relapsing into belly laughs.

“It is,” Dorian agreed, his voice sliding into falsetto as he attempted to regain his composure.  

“Wait - You mean Scout Damso- I mean, Dempsey?”

“Yes, fuck, Cullen -- his name is Jim and his sun rises and sets in your damn footsteps,” Bull said. “Everyone knows it. Shit, Varric’s got like five bets going on when you’re gonna find bad love poetry or weird gifts.”

Cullen's mind reeled. “I... merely thought him to be very dedicated.”

“Yeah, to your ass,” Bull grinned.

Dorian backhanded the Qunari in the chest. “Bull! That's crude. Not just the Commander’s ass,” he sniffed. Then he winked. “But mostly.”

“You two will be the death of me,” Cullen grumbled.

Bull’s lips quivered as he held back saying something.

“Oh just say it,” Cullen groaned, draining his beer.

“I’m sure Jim will give you an excellent eulogy.” Bull snorted.

Cullen raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “Go on, just... get it all out. Are you sure there’s not a pun in there? I’d hate for you to suffer on my account.”

“Give me time, kadan. I’ll come up with something.”

Dorian stiffened slightly, as if he’d sat on a tack. “Well,” he said, jumping to his feet. “I’m off in search of a drink.” 

“What was that about, I wonder?” Cullen watched Dorian make his way to the bar. “The serving girl will be by in a moment.”

Bull shook his head. “Shoulda guessed he’d know a little Qunlat. Shit.”

“So? You weren’t overly effusive,” Cullen objected.

“Right now you and I are just reminding him of everything he doesn’t have. If we were only fucking, he’d probably just move on. Now?” Bull frowned into his empty tankard. 

“Oh.” Cullen hadn’t considered that. There didn’t seem to be much that he could do about it. “Will he...”

“Get over it?” Bull shrugged, watching as Dorian chatted with Sera and Varric. “Hard to say. Probably doesn’t help that he took a shine to you.”

“It’s not just me,” Cullen pointed out. “I did catch him ogling you earlier.”

Bull’s attention was still trained on the mage, but his frown melted into a wide and dirty grin. “Yeah well, that just means he has eyes.” He turned his gaze to Cullen.

_ Maker, how does he do that? _ Cullen didn’t want to know. Because it was uncanny, how with one look Bull could make him tremble, all thoughts of concern for Dorian - all thoughts for anything but Bull - evaporating like drops of water on a hot stove.

Bull leaned closer, putting a hand on his own knee. The movement was slow and deliberate; there was no question who was predator and who was prey. The room seemed to shrink around him somewhat. “What are you thinking, pretty boy?” His voice was a quaking rumble.

“I... that....” Cullen glanced around, gauging who was in earshot. “I was thinking....” His voice broke as he tried to look away.

“Ah ah,” Bull tutted, pulling Cullen's chin back towards him with one finger. He didn’t prolong the contact; still, Cullen flushed crimson. “You can tell me your secrets.”

“I was thinking. Um. About. The, ah. Belt.”

Bull inhaled, his nostrils flaring, a spark alight in his eye. “Damn,” he breathed. “You want me to give you that again?”

Cullen nodded, hoping that no one could see how fast his breath was coming. 

“All right, precious one. You can have the belt.”

Forcing his steps into at least a semblance of calm, Cullen headed upstairs. They hadn’t done much in the way of this kind of activity since Cullen's attack with the mirror. And since Bull’s confession of dishonesty, uncertainty had become a cold lump in Cullen’s belly, impervious to the logic and evidence he threw at it; if anything it had grown. Somehow the lingering doubt had started to become tinged with a frantic need to prove himself to Bull, show that he was... Cullen wasn’t sure, exactly. But at an instinctual, almost cellular level, Cullen felt the need to prove he offered something more than any casual dalliance.

Once they reached Bull’s room, the Qunari locked all the doors. He circled Cullen possessively. “You sure you want this, pretty one?”

The question shot Cullen through with a spasm of panic. He didn’t have the self-awareness to know why he was nervous, only that something about Bull’s question set him on edge. He  _ did _ want this; the straining bulge in his pants spoke louder than any words. “Yes. I -” he choked a bit on the words. Something felt off; again, Cullen couldn’t identify the source of the disconnect. “Yes.”

“Belt’s not like a spanking,” Bull warned. “Don’t try to tough it out if you can’t take it. Understand?”

Cullen nodded vaguely even as something inside himself, that need to prove his worth, flared to life again, humming just under his consciousness. 

Bull regarded him a moment longer, looking for something. His eye narrowed. “Asked you a question,” he said.

_ Maker, you idiot.  _ “Sorry. Yes. Sorry. I understand,” Cullen clarified.

Apparently satisfied, Bull nodded. “All right then. On the bed, pretty one. On your stomach, while I get the ropes.”

This time, Bull tied both his hands and his feet so that he was spread-eagled. Cullen's nerves crackled. He wasn’t just bound; he was vulnerable, no possibility to curl up or get away. He was suddenly very grateful for the thin pillow Bull had put under his head. He buried his face in the scent of Bull’s skin, trying to center himself, calm his nervousness, reminding himself how badly he wanted this. 

The hand on the back of his neck was gentle. “All right?”

Cullen nodded, turning his face to the side. “Yes,” he said, willing the word to be true.

“What’s your watchword?”

“Phylactery,” Cullen murmured.

Bull nodded. He guided Cullen's right hand to the closest spindle and wrapped his fingers around the wood. “I want you to hold on to the bed. You let go, I stop. You say your watchword, I stop.” 

Bull cracked the belt across his own forearm. The sound alone sent a jolt through Cullen, as if he’d been shocked. Adjusting his grip on the leather slightly, Bull smoothed his free hand over the skin of Cullen's back. “Gonna give you ten to start, beautiful one.”

“Ten,” Cullen said, his breath shallow. He turned his head back to the center so that he couldn’t see the blows fall.

There could be no denying that it was nothing like Bull’s hand. Spanking was about touch taken to the next level, about the anticipation and build. When Bull spanked, it was a tease, slow as waking from a dream, drawing it out as long as possible, making Cullen crave the next blow until he was frantic.

This was about pain, pure and simple. The belt landed in crisp, even stripes, as pain exploded through Cullen's back. He squealed into the pillow, his limbs frantically yanking against the bonds as his body tried to get away. He barely maintained a hold on the bed. Maker, it felt like he’d been flayed or burned or perhaps both.

“Shhh.” The sound of Bull’s voice and the feel of his hand on the back of Cullen's neck were soothing, though the pain persisted. “Shhh, it’s all right. You’re all right, kadan. You’re doing fine.”

Cullen drew a shuddering breath. He didn’t feel fine. He felt foolish for thinking he was strong enough to take this. Who was he fooling, really? He had nothing to offer Bull. He could barely take ten lashes without falling apart. How long would it be before Bull tired of him? A few more months, perhaps? 

“Talk to me, kadan.”

Wincing, Cullen turned his face to the side. “I’m all right,” he managed to gasp. 

“You want more?” Bull’s thumb swiped along Cullen's hairline. 

_ You can do this. Don’t be weak. Maker, it’s just a belt, Rutherford.  _ “Yes.”

“You sure? Not a problem to stop now. You’re awful pretty, all laid out with these stripes for me.” Bull leaned down and traced the edge of the highest lash with his tongue. “Beautiful. So beautiful.”

The combination of cool breath and warm praise swaddled Cullen. Calm began to return as the pain ebbed and endorphins kicked in, the eye of the storm. He knew what was coming, now. And Bull was clearly enjoying it, even if Cullen was not. “Yes. I... I want more.”

“You think you can handle twenty?”

The thought made Cullen want to weep. It took a few deep breaths, but Cullen nodded. “Twenty.”

It began again. What Cullen had not been expecting was for Bull to switch the direction of his blows, so that each one sliced across all ten previous lashes. And these were slower, so each fully registered before the next landed.

By lash four, Cullen was ready to end it, straining against the ropes, screaming into the pillow clenched between his teeth. And then something in him shifted.  _ How much did you bear for Greagoir? For Meredith? Surely, you can bear that much more for Bull. Surely, you can be strong for him.  _

Cullen lost track of how many lashes were still to come. Every nerve, every neuron was focused on the pain, the rhythm of it, the burn and sting and heat of his skin. He no longer strained against the bonds, though he couldn’t prevent the flinching of his muscles. Each fall sang to him; the only thing he had to do was hold on.

Eventually, he felt something tugging his hand from the headboard. He squirmed, clenching his hand tighter.

“Shh, pretty one. It’s all right. We’re all done.” Bull’s voice was close to Cullen's ear. “You can let go.”

For an instant, Cullen tensed, wondering automatically if it were a trap. “Done?” It occurred to him that he hadn’t felt a lash in some time. He shifted his feet; he was no longer tied up. He felt unfocused, as if he hadn’t slept in days, reality just ever so slightly off kilter.

“All done.” Bull kissed his hair. “It’s okay. You let go now, for me? Come on.” 

Cullen blinked his eyes open, watching as Bull’s hand covered his own. He let go. There were marks on his palm where the spindle had creased his skin.

“Gonna give you some salve, precious one, that all right? It’ll feel good, I promise.”

Nodding into the pillow, Cullen felt the bed shift once and then again. A moment later, thick fingers began to work a paste into Cullen's back. He hissed at the sensation - warming and cooling and numbing, all at once. “Elfroot,” he said.

“A little, yeah. I know you like to wear the pauldrons and cuirass during the day, but the straps’ll be hell tomorrow. You’ll still feel it, but you won’t bruise or chafe too bad.” 

“Should save it,” Cullen murmured. “For the... you know.” He made a little circular motion with one hand. “Wounded.” Words seemed very far off.

“Not strong enough for them,” Bull countered. “I made this just for you. Well. I had Stitches make it.”

Something about that seemed wrong, but Cullen's mind was too hazy to figure it out. Something about secrets. 

Before he could drag his brain into worrying about it, Bull finished up with the salve, swiping across the skin with his palm. “How’s that feel?”

Cullen groaned, his eyes falling closed. “Good.” It was closer to how he felt after a spanking, a warming ache, but deeper and somehow richer.

“Looks amazing, kadan. All those pretty stripes. Mmm.” Bull lowered himself to his side, propping up his head with one hand. 

Scooting to the side, Cullen attempted to increase the body contact. His wrist flailed into Bull’s impressive erection. “What? You...” Grasping, Cullen stroked him through the fabric. “You’re....”

“Hell yeah I am.” There was a hint of a laugh in Bull’s voice.

Eyes still closed, Cullen continued to move his hand, not so much in an attempt to give Bull pleasure, but to measure his arousal. His own body was quick to follow Bull’s example. There seemed no filter, no separation between sensation and need.

“Hey now. Careful with that,” Bull warned, still laughing.

“But - you - I want -” Cullen frowned. Where words failed, action reigned; he nuzzled closer to Bull, trying to press against him.

“Hold on, kadan. I’m still dressed,” Bull reminded him. He shifted away, the bed heaving as he moved about.

Cullen whined, cracking an eye open. Bull was shimmying out of his trousers, and then after what seemed an eternity, gathered Cullen up. He arranged them both, propping himself up with pillows and letting Cullen sprawl on top.

This was much better, in Cullen's estimation. He moved aimlessly against Bull, seeking maximum contact.

“Feels nice,” Bull rumbled, petting Cullen's hair. 

Humming in agreement, Cullen dragged his cheek across Bull’s collarbone, following it with his lips. Dimly, he wondered if he was breaking the rules. “Can - can I -?”

“Go ahead.” The amusement in Bull’s voice was giving way to something darker. He growled in approval when Cullen lapped at his skin.

The sound emboldened Cullen; he began to press lazy, open mouthed kisses across Bull’s chest, sliding his body around. His own cock dragged between them, slick with sweat and pre-come. 

“Fuck, pretty one. Not gonna last long, you keep that up.” Bull’s voice was pitched midnight dark. Huge hands drifted down to his hips, drawing another whimper from Cullen. Bull guided his motion, setting a pace.

Cullen found Bull’s nipple and laved at it. A stream of curses in common and Qunlat and possibly Orlesian came from Bull’s mouth. One of his hands reached blindly at the bedside table. “Don’t stop,” Bull ordered.

Cullen felt Bull fumble with a vial of oil, opening it behind Cullen's back. And then a moment later Bull reached between them, grasping them both with a slick hand.

With a moan, Cullen grimaced against Bull’s chest. He was going to come, the edge racing near, impossibly fast.

“Yeah. That's it, oh fuck, Cullen, yeah,” Bull groaned. 

The formation of words seemed beyond Cullen's ability, his hips pumping against Bull’s hand.

“Fuck yes.” Bull grunted, his hips twitching. His spend splattered into the bottom of Cullen's chin. 

Cullen came as well, trying to muffle the sound of his cries into Bull’s chest, heedless of the mess of come and his own drool. His body was utterly out of control, shudders wracking through him. 

He drifted for a bit. Not that he was unaware of what was happening, exactly. Just that it lacked the orderly forward motion of time. They lay for a bit, and then Bull deftly turned them over so Cullen was on his back. There was a cup of cool water to drink, a warm damp cloth, and a blanket, and then the room was darkened candle by candle till only the glow from the banked fire remained.

And then Bull was back, huge and hot and real, and it was as if Cullen was shifting from one dream to another. “You’re here,” he noted.

“I sure am.”

“Not leaving.”

There was a quiet laugh. “Nope.”

“Mmm.” Cullen drew in a huge yawn, letting it out slow. Maker, it felt good. “Don’t want to leave. Ever.” 

Bull’s arm tightened around him. “You can stay as long as you want, kadan.”

“Kadan,” Cullen repeated. “My heart.”

“That’s right.” 

“It hurts, sometimes,” Cullen said. “My heart does.” He curled tighter into Bull’s chest. Sleep was now an inevitability. “Want to be good for you. So you’ll stay.”

Cullen was too tired to feel the way Bull’s muscles clenched. The Qunari swallowed hard before he answered. “You are so good for me, pretty one. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” Cullen yawned, squirming as he got comfortable. “G’night.”

  
  



	21. Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen understands so very little about what's going on. Bull's there to clarify a few things.

Judging by the moonlight slashed across the wall, it was still several hours before dawn. Cullen's bladder could no longer be ignored, so he got up and groped his way to the corner, relieving himself into the pot set behind the privacy screen. 

When he finished and turned back towards the bed, his eyes had adjusted enough for him to see that Bull was awake, watching him. Of course he was; Cullen had made enough noise to wake even the most inept spy. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“‘S’alright,” Bull said. “About to do the same thing, anyway.” 

They traded places, Cullen scooting under the covers, chasing the warmth. Dully, he realized he was too awake to resume sleep right away. He began the calculations to estimate his time to fall back to sleep versus time to dawn. 

“Mind if I make a little light? You don’t look like you’re falling asleep anytime soon.” Bull was already moving towards the fireplace.

“That’s fine.” Cullen watched Bull poke the near-dead embers, coaxing a taper to flame by blowing gently. “I like a candle in the middle of the night. Reminds me of being a child.”

Bull smiled as he eased back into the bed. “Yeah?” He rolled to his side, head propped on his hand.

“My mother volunteered at the Chantry once a week to help with the cleaning. She’d save candle stubs and bring them home. When any of us got sick or scared, she’d light one for us. Usually only had enough wick for a quarter hour or so, but it was a comfort.” 

“Can’t see you doing that for yourself, though.” It was less an accusation than a statement of fact.

Cullen laughed. “It is a bit indulgent,” he admitted. “And I get plenty of light in my quarters.”

“Through the hole in the roof, you mean.” There was a hint of laughter in Bull’s voice now.

“You have one too.” Cullen waved indignantly at the ceiling.

“Yeah, but I at least covered mine with a tarp,” Bull noted. “You know I’d bring you some fabric from my next field mission. Not hard to find.”

“Fabric that would better serve as tents for our troops? You don’t really expect me to accept that, do you?”

Bull laughed. “Nah, I guess not.”

They lay for another moment or two. Bull put his hand on Cullen's chest, over the blanket. Even without the skin contact, the weight was a comfort. “So. About tonight. What we did. Was that okay for you?” 

Something in his voice put Cullen on edge. It wasn’t a casual check-in -- too much concern there. “Uh,” Cullen faltered. “Yes? I mean, I hope that was pretty clear. What with the ending and all.” Bull didn’t laugh, probably because it wasn’t terribly funny.  _ And also because you sound like a recruit that's been caught with a rusty sword.  _ “Why do you ask?”

“How much do you remember?”

Cullen gave a confused smile. “What? I mean - I remember all....” His voice trailed off as he actually thought about it. “Actually the last part is a bit fuzzy. The part, um. After.”

Bull nodded. He had that intent, blank look. “It happens. You went down pretty deep there.”

“Did I?” Cullen was off-balance. He had no idea what Bull was driving at. 

“Yeah. Sometimes... people say things. Things they wouldn’t normally say. Like talking to someone who’s asleep, or drunk.” Bull’s face hadn’t changed.

_ Maker, what the hell did you tell him, Rutherford? _ Frantically, he tried to piece together the last few moments. It was like trying to remember a dream, slipping just out of his grasp.

“Hey, it’s alright. Don’t get all worked up,” Bull said, his face softening. “You said... you said your heart hurts. And that you wanted to be good, so I’ll stay.”

Blinking rapidly, Cullen tried to parse his own words as well as try to figure out why it seemed so important to Bull. It was becoming increasingly clear he’d done something wrong, crossed some line; he must have, for Bull to press the issue. “Oh, I... um. I... I’ll try to... be more mindful of my words. Next time.”

The wince of pain that crossed Bull’s face was completely unexpected. “Fuck, Kadan, that's not... c’mere,” he said, pulling Cullen closer so that he was cradled under Bull’s arm. “Cullen. You didn’t do anything wrong, saying those things. I’m trying to find out where I messed up.”

“What are you talking about?” The conversation was veering too wildly for Cullen to follow.

With his free hand, Bull rubbed the side of his thumb up and down the ridges of the scar over his eye, as close to a nervous habit as Cullen had ever seen. “Beautiful one, I don’t want your heart to hurt. I don’t want you to think there’s some level of... I dunno, goodness or correct behavior that's keeping me here.” 

Normally, it was Cullen's loose tongue that got him into trouble. Now, he found he was utterly without words. Bull had spelled out the manifestation of Cullen’s doubt, which had grown from pebble to lump and now seemed to occupy the whole of his chest cavity. All efforts to reduce it having had no effect, he’d begun to work around the obstacle, the way one gets used to being on crutches or losing a finger. He had doubts, so the answer was clearly to work as hard as possible to please Bull. Cullen hadn’t even been fully aware that he was doing it, until Bull spoke his words back to him.

And as the seconds ticked by, he could feel Bull tense underneath him. “I... don’t know what to say,” he finally admitted.

The chest under Cullen's cheek rose and fell as Bull gathered his breath. “Okay. Let’s... just back up. Tonight. The belt. Did you like it?”

If Cullen had been confused before, now he was terrified. He had no ability to lie right to Bull’s face. “I... liked... the end,” he hedged.

Another deep breath, this with a very deliberate exhale. “So you didn’t like it.”

“No, it’s not....” Cullen pushed himself up to a sitting position. “It was... just more intense than I was expecting.”

Bull’s face was impenetrable. “I’m going to ask you something, and no matter what answer you give me, I want you to know that it doesn’t change anything about me wanting you. Okay?”

Cullen nodded.

“When we play like this, do you like the pain itself?”

Cullen considered and rejected a host of responses before finally giving up. “Sometimes?”

“Okay, okay, that's good,” Bull said, rubbing his arm. “When you think about sex with me, what is it you think about?”

Worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, Cullen wished desperately he knew where Bull was going with this line of questioning.  _ And also for the ability to talk about sex without blushing crimson; while I’m wishing, might as well go whole hog. _ “I... like it when you... tell me what to do.” 

A nerve twitched in Bull’s jaw. Cullen flinched involuntarily.

“No. None of that, pretty one. Don’t be scared. Know this is hard for you, but it’s important. Got one more question, okay?” When Cullen nodded again, Bull mirrored the motion. “Why did you ask me for the belt?”

The question would have been easier to answer if Cullen knew himself. “I... I thought it would feel different,” he said. When Bull made an encouraging noise, Cullen forced himself to continue, aware that he hadn’t answered the question. “And you spoke of it in Kirkwall, and I thought it I... I thought you would like it. Something new for you.” He blinked. “You  _ did _ like it,” he pointed out. “Didn’t you? You were....” Cullen couldn’t think of a polite way to talk about Bull’s raging erection once his flogging had ended.

“That explains why you asked, but when I checked in, why did you say you wanted to keep going?”

“You... seemed to enjoy it. And I just thought... I offer you so little in comparison to - well, anyone, really, and I know you said there aren’t any others but, I thought, maybe you were just saying that to make me happy. Maker knows it’s easier to lie to me than the whole keep, and half of Skyhold looks at me with pity and the other half laughs and - I just... I wanted to... be strong. For you.” The flood of words dried to a trickle.

Bull’s face crumbled. Cullen had never seen him in such a state - he looked almost helpless, at the point of despair. “You took the lash because you thought I was - what, getting bored with you? Thought I was gonna hightail it unless you kept upping the stakes? Fuck, Cullen, do you trust me or not?”

“Of course I do,” Cullen protested. Even he could hear how hollow it sounded. 

“Cullen. Don’t,” Bull admonished. 

“It’s not -” Cullen huffed, closing his eyes and resetting himself. “It’s not that I don’t  _ trust _ you,” he said. 

Bull’s face had settled into something like resignation. “But you don’t  _ believe _ me. You don’t think I’m telling the truth when I say I care. Fuck, Cullen, I fucking -” He cut himself off, his voice having risen to a near shout. 

_ Oh, nicely done, Rutherford. You managed to push him away. Perfect. _ “Bull,” Cullen said. “It’s not... It’s not that I don’t want to believe. I want it so badly that -” He sighed. It was his turn to drag his fingers through his hair; idly, he noted that it was sticking almost straight up in places. Automatically, he combed it down. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he said, selecting his words with precision. “I spent so many months convincing myself it would never happen. And now it has, and I find I still can’t believe it.”

Bull stared down at his hands, curled into fists in his lap. “Would you believe it if I’d never lied to you?”

The question loosened something in Cullen. Suddenly the uncertainty seemed more tenuous, less rooted in reality. With a flash of uncharacteristic clarity, Cullen saw that his inability to accept what Bull was offering wasn’t  _ because _ of the lies - those were merely the medium. The message was that he didn’t think he deserved Bull’s affection. And in the process he’d somehow managed to hurt Bull. He had what he wanted, and he was letting it slip away. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, sending the locks he’d just smoothed down in every direction. “I’m sure I’d still find a way to doubt.”

“Well then.” Bull looked up at the ceiling. “Since you’re not gonna believe me anyway, might as well tell you I’m in love with you. At least, I think I am. Never done it before. Pretty sure though.”

Everything stopped - Cullen's breath, his heart, the guttering of the candle, perhaps time itself. Then it all came screeching back a moment later. “What?!?” He hadn’t intended to word to come out as a splutter, but there it was.

Bull shrugged. “Yeah, for a long time, probably. Took me a bit to realize.”

“You’re in  _ love _ with me?” Cullen squinted in disbelief.

“Yep.” 

“You’re in love. With _ me.” _ Disbelief gave way to confusion. “Maker’s breath.”

Bull just looked at him. His expression was soft again, but the sadness was still there. “It’s alright. If you don’t. I mean, I get it. You don’t have to say it back or anything.”

The astonishment clouded Cullen's mind. “It’s just... I never even let myself consider it. I never thought such a thing were possible.”

“Join the club.” Bull tilted his head.

“When did you... Maker’s breath,” Cullen swore again. 

“When did I realize?” It wasn’t the question Cullen had been intending to ask, but it was close enough. Bull almost smiled. “On the way back from the Storm Coast. That's when I knew for sure. After the shitshow with the dreadnought... Of all the shit I should’ve been thinking about, it was you I couldn’t get off my mind. Whether you’d be disappointed in me. Whether you’d want to still be with me, once you heard all the lies. And I coulda kept lying, not told you everything, but it was more important that you know the truth than it was for me to....” He winced.

“Have me?” Cullen guessed.

“Something like that, yeah. Best part is that Cole kid just blurted it out in front of everyone. Fuckin’ fantastic.” Bull shook his head.

Cullen burst out laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Oh yeah,” Bull nodded. “I mean it was all nonsense to everyone else, but shit, he just reaches right in your head and rips the secrets out.”

The levity deflated the tension a bit, and Cullen realized how drained he felt. He lay back on the bed, curled up against Bull. “I had something similar happen once.”

It took Bull a second to react, but then he drew his arm around Cullen again. “Yeah?”

“Well, not exactly. I thought I was in love. By Andraste, it was... what, ten years past. One of the mages in my Circle. She was so bold and brave and  _ Maker, _ was she funny. And her laugh... you could hear it across the tower. I attended her Harrowing. Not a trickle of sweat on her brow, not a twitch of fear.” Cullen sighed.

“Wait, you fell for a mage?” Bull laughed in disbelief.

“Well I didn’t act on it,” Cullen grumbled. “And who’s telling the story here?”

Bull snorted and brought his hand up to slide along Cullen's arm. “Please continue,” he said politely.

“Yes. As I said, it was all completely above board. Except, hang on, no. There was one time she flirted with me. Er, rather egregiously, as I recall.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway -”

“Oh no no no. No. You don’t get to gloss that over, pretty boy. What did she say?” Bull was almost giggling.

“Uhm - well, if you must know, she called me out for stuttering, which is rather rude, now that I think about it. And then she... ah... suggested we go someplace more private to continue our discussion.” It was only a mild inaccuracy. In point of fact she’d cornered him, right up against the wall for anyone to see. Cullen remembered with sudden clarity the glint in her eye, the smell of her perfume. 

“And?” Bull cut into his reverie impatiently.

“Well, obviously that was out of the question. Er, so, I... ah. Removed myself from the vicinity.”

“You ran away,” Bull corrected.

“I ran away,” Cullen sighed over the sound of Bull’s laughter. “All the way to the basement, actually. Just in case.”

“Cullen, you’re fucking killing me with this story.”

“Yes well if I could be allowed to  _ finish,” _ Cullen huffed. “The point was, she left. Conscripted. I didn’t see her again until the fall of the Circle. When she showed up to free me, I -”

“Hold up. You’re telling me your teenage crush was the fucking  _ Hero of Ferelden?” _ Bull didn’t wait for an answer, dissolving once again into giggles. “Fuck, Cullen, you sure can pick ‘em.”

“Well the point being,” Cullen continued, his voice firm, “when she showed up, I accused her of being a desire demon, her image pulled from my mind to torment me. And as I’m saying it, who comes running up but Alistair, and - Bull, honestly. I was being tortured. Please stop laughing.” Cullen couldn’t help but laugh a bit too.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Bull’s chest quivered.

“So anyway, Alistair starts babbling to Solona about how he didn’t realize I still quote ‘held a torch’, it was so long ago, we were all young once, et cetera et cetera, and then she of course says something like wait how did you know, and then Alistair says well clearly he’s talking about me, and - Bull, really. I must insist.”

Bull had exploded with laughter. “Oh, fuck, this is the best story I’ve ever heard.”

“Yes well it gets worse, because then they’re just staring at each other, and Alistair says, ‘awkward’ in this sing-song way that he had. And there’s an elf with them, a blond with tattoos on his face, and he just starts going on about how if they managed to free me, the two of them could invite me to ‘play’ and if they did, he offered to watch.”

Bull was by now having difficulty breathing, choking with laughter. He rolled away from Cullen, clutching his stomach. “Oh, fuck. Fuck I can’t even -” he managed a few words before being overtaken by laughter again.

“So we agree that my story is worse?” Cullen fought his own grin as best he could.

“Ah, shit. Yes. Yes, that's worse than Cole,” Bull admitted, flopping back. He wiped his eye as a few stray laughs escaped. 

Cullen wondered if he should say... something else. Reciprocate. It was just so... Love? Bull loved him. Maker, he could hardly bring himself to think it. Did he love Bull in return? He wanted Bull, surely, and was - well, quite fond of him. But... love? Wasn’t one supposed to just know?

Before Cullen became too embroiled in worry, Bull squeezed him close, planting a lingering kiss on to his hair. He could feel the even heat of the Qunari’s breath. It was intensely comforting. At least, it was until the rhythm stuttered in time with Bull’s diaphragm.

“You’d better not be laughing at my story again,” Cullen warned.

“No it’s -” Bull gave up the ghost, snorting into gusts of laughter. “Awkward,” he said.

“No no, more like this:  _ ‘Awk _ -ward’,” Cullen clarified. 

Bull snickered. “Please tell me you’re going to tell Dorian this story.”

“Are you insane? Why would I do such a thing?”

“Because he met him. The king. At Redcliffe? After the whole time magic bullshit,” Bull reminded him.

“Maker, I’d completely forgotten. And no, absolutely, I am not telling Dorian that story. Ever. And neither are you.” 

“Leliana knows it, you realize this.”

Cullen flung his arm over his eyes. “By Andraste, Bull, are you trying to make me die of embarrassment? How can I face her in council now?”

“Sure you’ll find a way, pretty boy. Pray or something, maybe.” The words were mocking, but the tone was affectionate.

After a long moment, Bull spoke again. “All joking aside, Cullen, it's really important you tell me when it's too much. I know you got there in the end, but that's not how I wanna help you get there. Consent goes both ways, pretty one. I need you to understand -- I only like it when I know  _ you _ like it. Otherwise I'm just beating you, and I don't enjoy that.”

Cullen flinched. He'd never given much thought to why Bull enjoyed those things. Put like that, Cullen felt slightly ill, to think how Bull must have felt. “Maker’s breath. Bull, I'm - I never meant to put you in that position. I swear, it won't happen again.”

Bull nodded. “Good. Now come on. I gotta at least try to sleep a little.” He put out the candle. 

They lay in quiet stillness for a moment. Cullen's thoughts churned.  _ Maker, should I say it? That's a thing people do. They say I love you before they go to sleep. Right?  _

“You don’t have to say it,” Bull said. “Stop thinking and go to sleep.”

“I thought that was Cole’s job, looking in people’s heads.”

“Cullen. Sleep. Say it when you’re ready. I’ll be here.”

Cullen rolled over so his face was on Bull’s arm. “I... I believe you.”

Bull gave him another squeeze, this one almost too hard, clutching Cullen in his grasp. He took a deep, satisfied breath. “That’s good enough for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I've been a bit swamped lately with life stuff, so there may be a delay for the next chapter. Sorry!


End file.
